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know what Greek sounds like.

But what in hell is she doing here?
     
     
Cautiously she accepted the coat. Her eyes never wandered from him;

she slipped the garment on purely by touch.
     
     
-- In case I go for her while she's hindered from striking back? What did

Faberdown do to her?
     
     
The coat came to her ankles and was impossible to button closely. She

tugged the belt as tight as she could, drew a deep breath, and seemed

to pluck up the courage to abandon her watchful suspicion. Favouring

her right foot, she came up to him with her hand outstretched. He took

the small cold fingers in his and led her towards the road.
     
     
"Inspector!" he called. "I've got her!"
     
     
She tensed at the cry but didn't try to hang back. At the low point of

the wire Hofford and one of the constables appeared, silhouetted in the

light of Wolseley's headlamps. A torch stabbed towards them.
     
     
"That's her?" Hofford exclaimed. "Why, she's only a child!"
     
     
Beyond the two men, Paul noticed with satisfaction, Mrs Weddenhall was

venturing to take a closer look.
     
     
-- So much for bloodthirsty maniacs to be hunted with dogs and guns.

But I bet you won't learn anything from this.
     
     
Hampered by the coat, she negotiated the fence, accepting aid from

Hofford, and Paul saw the reason far her limp: a cut just behind her

right little toe, no longer bleeding but obviously tender.
     
     
"More than a child, I think," Paul told Hofford. "But she's definitely a

half-pint. Goodness knows who she is or what she's doing here, though. She

seems to be a foreigner -- doesn't appear to understand English."
     
     
Hofford blinked. "Are you sure? Couldn't she just be . . . ah . . . 'mute

of malice,' as the phrase goes?"
     
     
"That's just it. She's not mute. I'd never have noticed her if she hadn't

spoken to me."
     
     
A semicircle of frowning faces focused on the girl. She had detached her

hand from Paul's and was peering at the things close to her, especially

at the cars. Now she raised her eyes to Paul as though asking silent

permission, and went to the nearest, the police Wolseley. The driver,

reporting her discovery over his radio, watched her nervously.
     
     
She touched the door of the car as if she had never seen anything like it,

walked to the rear and first examined, then touched, the maker's insignia.
     
     
"Don't think she's going to break and run, do you?" Hofford whispered

to Paul.
     
     
"I doubt it. But I can't figure out what she's up to!"
     
     
The girl turned from the police car to look at the Bentley. Two eager dogs

returned her gaze. One of them barked and clawed at the car's window.
     
     
She covered her face with both hands and began to cry.
     
     
     
     
She parted her fingers to find out who it was when Paul comfortingly put

his arm around her, recognised him and allowed herself to be led back to

where the others were standing. Her weeping consisted in small dry sobs;

he felt their pulselike tremor come and go.
     
     
"Well, the question is now," Hofford said, "what's to be done with her?

Your hospital strikes me as the best bet, Doctor, because even if you're

right and the man she -- " He checked, aware that a phrase like "beat up"

sounded absurd applied to a man nearly a foot taller than this slip of

a girl and practically twice her weight. "What I mean is, she must be

a trifle odd walking around in the altogether!"
     
     
Paul nodded. "Can you take her down in your car? I'll follow in my own.

And perhaps you could radio in and ask your headquarters to warn the

duty doctor that she's coming."
     
     
"Yes, of course. Okay, come along, my girl!"
     
     
But though she didn't struggle, she flinched away from Hofford's

encouraging hand and shrank back closer to Paul.
     
     
"Taken a fancy to you," the inspector commented. "Must be the bedside

manner, or whatever you call it in your line of business."
     
     
"I suppose I could take her in my car," Paul