"About that baby farming case. A detective—a detective"—and she paused to observe the look of horror that the face of Mrs. Dumaresq assumed at the word—"has just been here from Scotland Yard to see Miss Semaphore. I told him she was too ill, and asked his business. He said she was required to give evidence in a case, and when I said, 'Is it a baby farming case?' he said 'Yes.'"
"I knew it," said Mrs. Dumaresq, clasping her hands with fervour. "I knew it from the very moment I saw her face of guilt and terror. Oh! to think that I should be in the same house with such a woman. As sure as you stand there, this address will get into the papers, and what will become of us? If my friends see it, I am lost."
The two women stood looking at each other blankly.
"The best thing to do," said the medical woman, "is to go to Mrs. Wilcox, tell her our suspicions, and insist on this—this person being moved the very first moment she is fit."
"It is horrible, horrible," ejaculated Mrs. Dumaresq. "When do you think she will be able to go?"
