“No.” It was almost a whisper.

“Then you learned all this where?”

“I’m trying⁠—trying to help you learn who murdered him,” she said earnestly. “You’ve no right to⁠—”

“You’ll help me most just now by telling me where you learned all this,” I insisted.

She stared at the desk, chewing her lower lip. I waited. Presently she said:

“My father is Mr. Willsson’s secretary.”

“Thanks.”

“But you mustn’t think that we⁠—”

“It’s nothing to me,” I assured her. “What was Willsson doing in Hurricane Street last night when he had a date with me at his house?”