"Then what's become of the child?" Mrs. Willet demanded.

Quest, whose brain was working quickly, scribbled upon one of his cards
the address of the hotel where he had taken rooms, and passed it over.

"Why Lenora didn't come on to you here I can't imagine," he said.
"However, I'll go back to the hotel where she was to spend the night after
she arrived. She may have gone back there. That's my address, Mrs. Willet.
If you hear anything, I wish you'd let me know. Lenora's quite a
particular friend of mine and I am a little anxious."

Mrs. Willet smiled knowingly.

"I'll let you know certainly, sir," she promised, "and glad I shall be to
hear of Lenora's being comfortably settled, after that first unfortunate
affair of hers. You'll excuse me a moment. I'm a little slower in my wits
than you. Did you say that Lenora was at Hampstead yesterday afternoon and
they told her my address?"

"That's so," Quest admitted.

The woman's face grew troubled.

"I don't like it," she said simply.

"Neither do I," Quest agreed.

"London's no place, nowadays," Mrs. Willet continued, "for girls as pretty
as Lenora to be wandering about in. Such tales as there have been lately
in the Sunday papers as makes one's blood run cold if one can believe them