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 "I rang them up half an hour ago," said Sir Arthur. "The girl is very ill indeed. I gather from the tone of the person with whom I talked that the case is pretty serious."

"Yes," said Laura Babraham, in a low voice. "One felt sure of that. Never again do I want to see a human creature in the state that poor thing was in last night. I've been haunted by her ever since."

"Pretty bad, I must say." Sir Arthur plucked sharply at his moustache. "According to the Hospital, she's been knocked about and generally ill-used. There are marks on her throat, and they want my opinion as to whether they should communicate with the police."

"What do you advise, papa?" said Laura, with a growing concern.

"One doesn't know what to advise." Sir Arthur's moustache continued to receive harsh treatment. "We are faced with rather a problem, it seems to me."

"You mean that it will be a matter for the police if she doesn't get better?"

"Yes, certainly that. And it may be a matter for the police if she does get better."

Laura Babraham agreed; yet even then she did not see the problem in its full complexity. Sir Arthur, taking the first step towards her enlightenment, pointed to the Van Roon: "My dear, beyond any doubt that is a most precious thing. And, ignoring for the moment the state in which this young woman turned up last night, the question we have to ask ourselves is: What is she doing with it at all? And why was she ranging the streets alone, in the fog, at that hour?"

"From what one gathered," said Laura, "the picture