Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'That's
what
I'm
hoping.'
He
expected
her
to
ask
why
,
but
instead
she
said,
'What
happened
to
them
–
after
their
mother
was
killed?'
'I'm
still
finding
that
out.'
'Maybe
they're
dead.'
'No,
I
don't
think
so.'
He
leaned
forward,
resting
his
forearms
on
the
desk.
'The
younger
one
was
called
Urszula
–
but
the
people
who
adopted
her
changed
her
name.
She'll
be
a
woman
now.'
'How
did
you
find
out
about
her?'
'That's
my
job,'
he
said.
'I
traced
the
priest
who
worked
in
Moirhill
then.'
'And
he
told
you
where
they
went
when
they
were
adopted.'
Murray
shook
his
head
.
'He
wouldn't
do
that
.
'
'Why
not?'
'He
feels
they
should
be
left
alone.
If
they've
forgotten,
he
wouldn't
want
them
to
be
reminded.'
'Well,
that's
why
they
were
adopted
in
the
first
place,
wasn't
it?'
she
exclaimed.
She
sounded
again
simply
impatient.
'Their
mother
dying
in
that
horrible
way
–
you
wouldn't
want
them
reminded
of
it
–
why
would
you
want
to?'
It
was
darker
now,
but
since
she
in
her
turn
had
leaned
forward he
had
the
sense
of
them
as
bound
closer
in
the
circle
of
light.
If
he
had
wanted
to,
he
could
have
stretched
out
and
touched
the
soft
pad
of
her
lips.
'I
don't
think
she's
forgotten,'
he
said,
quietly
as
if
working
it
out
for
himself,
in
the
husky
intimate
whisper
a
man
uses
to
the
woman
by
his
side
before
sleeping.
'I
think
she
came
back
with
her
sister,
and
they've
been
looking
for
the
man
who
killed
their
mother.'
The
outside
bell
rang
and
rang
again.
With
a
startled
movement,
furtively
small
as
if
between
conspirators,
he
motioned
her
to
ignore
it.
'Unless
you
know
how,
though,
it's
not
easy
to
trace
someone
in
a
city.
That's
the
job
I
do –
even
without
Father
Hurtle's
help,
I
could
find
the
place
they
were
sent
to
be
adopted.
But
for
them,
that
kind
of
thing
would
be
hard.
I'm
sure
they
haven't
found
the
man –
but,
by
this
time,
he'll
know
that
they're
looking.'
The
bell
rang
again
and
her
eyes
widened
staring
at
him,
and
then
she
had
stood
up,
out
of
the
light,
and
was
walking
to
the
door.
When
she
came
back,
she
put
on
the
overhead
light
and
all
the
shadows
retreated
to
the
corners.
Blinking,
it
took
him
a
moment
to
recognise
the
woman
she
had
brought
into
the
room.
'There
doesn't
seem
to
be
anybody
else
to
care,'
Mrs
Beddawes
said.
She
was
in
her
middle
forties
and
her
figure
was
good,
but
there
was
something
that
made
it
seem
as
if
she
would
have
been
happy
under
other
circumstances
to
let
it
go
a
little.
Inside
her
there
was
a
comfortable
woman,
a
mothering
woman,
constrained.
When
he
had
interviewed
her,
he
had
been
surprised
by
her
lack
of
bitterness.
It
was
true
she
and
her
husband
were
separated,
but
she
still
had
an
interest
in
the
business
which
she
had
helped
him
to
build
up;
and
now,
just
as
much
as
the
partner
Foley,
was
left
looking
at
an
emptied
bank
account
and
a
list
of
creditors.
She
said,
staring
in
front
of
the
desk,
'I
know
where
he
is.
She's left
him
.
'
'Mrs
Foley
you
mean?'
'She
didn't
stay
with
him.
I
never
expected
her
to.
And
now
he's
on
his
own.'
Belatedly,
he
got
to
his
feet.
'I'm
not
involved
any
more.
Your lawyer's
taken
me
off
the
case.'
'There
doesn't
seem
to
be
anybody
else
to
care,'
she
said
again.
She
looked
at
Irene
as
if
in
search
of
support.
'He's
there
on
his
own.'
'How
did
you
find
him?'
Murray
asked.
'He
phoned
me.'
And
looked
again
at
the
other
woman
as
if
for
understanding
of
the
obvious,
what
else
would
he
do?
'From
a
hotel
–
in
Oliver
Street.
I
know
where
it
is,
I
can
take
you
there. They
took
a
room
and
stayed
there
under
a
different
name.'
She
put
a
hand
to
her
cheek
in
distress.
'I
can't
remember.
He
told
me,
but –
The
room
number
is
12a.
Room
12a.
They
were
pretending
to
be
husband
and
wife,
only
now
she's
left
.
He
wanted
me
to
come.'