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Page 47
A tired-looking woman carrying a child appeared from somewhere
and stared apathetically at Harley.
Addressing the angry girl: "Another o' your flames, Polly?" she
inquired in a dull voice. "Has he made you change your mind
already?"
The girl addressed as "Polly" dropped her grip on the floor and,
banging open a door, entered a shabby little sitting room,
followed by Harley. Dropping onto a ragged couch, she stared
obstinately out of the dirty window.
"Excuse me, madam, for intruding," said Harley to the woman with
the baby, "but Polly has some information of use to the police.
Oh, don't be alarmed. She has committed no crime. I shall only
detain her for a few minutes."
He bowed to the tired-looking woman and closed the sitting-room
door. "Now, young woman," he said, sternly, adopting this
official manner of his friend, Inspector Wessex, "I am going to
give you one warning, and one only. Although I don't think you
know it, you have got mixed up with a gang of crooks. Play the
game with me, and I'll stand by you. Try any funny business and
you'll go to jail."
The official manner had its effect. Miss Jones looked sharply
across at the speaker. "I haven't done anything," she said,
sullenly.
Paul Harley advanced and stood over her. "What about the trick
with the serviettes at Sir Charles Abingdon's?" he asked,
speaking the words in slow and deliberate fashion.
The shaft went home, but the girl possessed a stock of obstinate
courage. "What about it?" she inquired, but her voice had
changed.
"Who made you do it?"
"What's that to you?"
Paul Harley drew out his watch, glanced at the face, and returned
the timepiece to his pocket. "I have warned you," he said. "In
exactly three minutes' time I shall put you under arrest."
The girl suddenly lifted her veil and, raising her face, looked
up at him. At last he had broken down her obstinate resistance.
Already he had noted the coarse, elemental formation of her
hands, and now, the veil removed, he saw that she belonged to a
type of character often found in Wales and closely duplicated in
certain parts of London. There was a curious flatness of feature
and prominence of upper jaw singularly reminiscent of the
primitive Briton. Withal the girl was not unprepossessing in her
coarse way. Utter stupidity and dogged courage are the
outstanding characteristics of this type. But fear of the law is
strong within them.
"Don't arrest me," she said. "I'll tell you."
"Good. In the first place, then, where were you going when I came
here?"
"To meet my boy at Vauxhall Station."
"What is his name?"
"I'm not going to tell you. What's he done?"
"He has done murder. What is his name?"
"My God!" whispered the girl, and her face blanched swiftly.
"Murder! I--I can't tell you his name--"
"You mean you won't?"
She did not answer.
"He is a very dark man," continued Harley "with black eyes. He is
a Hindu."
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