all."

"You don't have any--what we call the White Slave Traffic--over here, do
you?" Quest asked quickly.

"I can't say that I've ever come across any case of it myself, sir," the
old lady replied. "I was housekeeper to the Duke of Merioneth for fifty
years, and where we lived we didn't hear much about London and London
ways. You see, I never came to the town house. But since I retired and
came up here, and took to reading the Sunday papers, I begin to be
thankful that my ways have been country ways all my life."

"No need to alarm ourselves, I'm sure," Quest intervened, making his way
towards the door. "Lenora is a particularly capable young lady. I feel
sure she'd look after herself. I am going right back to the hotel, Mrs.
Willet, and I'll let you know directly I hear anything."

"I shall be very anxious, Mr. Quest," she reminded him, earnestly, "very
anxious indeed. Lenora was my sister's favourite child, and my sister--"

Quest had already opened the front door for himself and passed out. He
sprang into the taxi which he had kept waiting.

"Clifford's Hotel in Payne Street," he told the man sharply.

He lit a cigar and smoked furiously all the way, throwing it on to the
pavement as he hurried into the quiet private hotel which a
fellow-passenger on the steamer had recommended as being suitable for
Lenora's one night alone in town.