His recognition surprised me, even at such a moment.
"Do you know her?"
"I believe I have that pleasure." His words sounded like a sneer, they were so bitterly uttered. "But what's the meaning of it all? I spoke to her, but she passed without a sign of recognition. What's the matter with her? She looks ill; Where's she going?"
"She's going to Lawrence's room."
"Ferguson!" The increased pressure of his grasp showed that his strength was greater than I imagined.
"What's she—going there for?"
"My business is to stop her going at all, not to stand here answering idiotic questions."
I broke from him. The delay, brief though it had been, was sufficient to baffle my intentions. Miss Moore had arrived at No. 64. A policeman was standing without, seemingly acting as guardian of the portal.
"Is this the room in which Mr. Edwin Lawrence was killed?"
Although I was still at some distance from her, I could hear her ask the question with the direct simplicity of a little child. The officer stared at her as if he could not make her out.
"Yes, miss. But you can't go in; my
