"I am afraid you will find them quite persistent, madam," he
said.

"I cannot tell them things which I do not know myself," she
answered, frowning.

"Naturally," the clerk admitted; "yet these gentlemen from
Scotland Yard have special privileges, of course, and there
remains the fact that you were engaged to lunch with Mr. Fynes
here."

"If it will help me to get rid of them," she said, "I will speak
to the representative of Scotland Yard. I will have nothing
whatever to say to the reporters."

The clerk turned round and beckoned to the foremost figure in the
little group. Inspector Jacks, tall, lantern-jawed, dressed with
the quiet precision of a well-to-do-man of affairs, and with no
possible suggestion of his calling in his manner or attire, was
by her side almost at once.

"Madam," he said, "I understand that Mr. Hamilton Fynes was a
friend of yours?"

"An acquaintance," she corrected him.

"And your name?" he asked.

"I am Miss Morse," she replied,--"Miss Penelope Morse."