I think she swam across the river; and a woman who can swim the Thames is unlikely to regard water as deadly enough to invite a suicide attempt. However, beyond the fact that she has escaped from wherever she came by wrapping this sheet around her right arm and breaking a window, and that she has eaten porridge, any further information we can glean from physical clues must come from Bart's. I would be pleased if you could join us, Watson; I have a suspicion that your medical background may be of some use in this. Just ring for Billy, will you, and we'll get a cab."

***

Within a short time a four-wheeler had deposited us at the door of the great hospital. The house-officer was just coming out of the lady's hospital room as we turned down the dimly-lit corridor.

"Ah, Mr. Lestrade," he cried upon seeing the inspector. "Have the police found something then?"

"Well, not exactly," returned Lestrade. "I brought these gentlemen along by way of consultation. Dr. Stanley, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and of course Dr. Watson. Dr. Stanley was on duty yesterday morning when the constables brought her around."

Dr. Stanley blinked with interest at the name of my companion. "I have heard of you, of course, Mr. Holmes. A privilege, I'm sure." Dr. Stanley was a young man something under middle height, who peered at the world through thick-lensed, gold-rimmed glasses with an uncertain, flickering smile. He was clearly of the impoverished senior medical student type.

"Has there been any change in her condition?" asked Lestrade. "Yes, indeed," said Dr. Stanley. "That is, I think so. She spoke to the nurses this morning; they managed to get some breakfast into her at last. So she can speak - I had been toying with the idea of complete aphasia, as from a stroke, even though she has no right-sided weakness; that would be a terrible thing in a woman so young."

"What did she say?" asked Lestrade, highly interested. "She would scarcely even look at me yesterday, much less talk."