She nodded.

"And, of course, if she should come back here, you'll let us know at once, won't you?"

Again a nod.

Jordan shrugged, then signaled for the others to follow him out. At the door Clive turned. She looked so pathetic, so defenselessly alone. "Isn't there anyone who could stay with you, Mrs. Uphill-a relative, a woman friend?"

Beautiful but vacant eyes fastened on his. "I have no woman friends-or any relations…"A bitter smile. "But thank you."

Jordan tapped Clive on the shoulder and jerked his thumb to the front door. Mrs. Uphill pulled another Kleenex from the box.

Back in the car Simms radioed the details to Denton Control for circulation to all patrols. Control instructed them to drop Clive off at his digs and then return to the station with the photograph.

The car retraced its way through the side streets and was soon back on the main road.

"Let's have the benefit of your vast London experience. What do you reckon?" asked Simms.

Clive shrugged. "It's too early. The kid could turn up at any time." Then he remembered the question he'd been burning to ask. "Where's the kid's father-the husband?"

He caught Jordan's smile in the rearview mirror. "She's not married, Clive. The 'Mrs.' is just a courtesy title."

Clive frowned. "Then where does her money come from? The chair I was sitting on must have set her back four hundred quid at least."

Simms turned in his seat. "I'll give you a clue. She's self-employed and fee-earning. The money in her lounge was earned in her bedroom." He saw Clive was still uncomprehending. "How thick can you get? She's a tart, a whore, a harlot, a pro. She's on the bash."

Clive's jaw thudded. Not her! Not that virginal child. How simple did they think he was?

"I hope I haven't shocked you," said Simms. "I don't suppose you have such wicked women in London. It's a bit naughty, I know, but then, this is a decadent town. It'll be different when the bingo halls are built." He looked to Jordan for a smile of appreciation, but the driver was lost in his thoughts.