H. Bedford-Jones

“ As the boat drew in to the wharf, Quentin's sudden fear passed into exhilaration. He noted the rather flaccid face, the quick-darting blue eyes, the massive jaw under the crisp gray mustache, and laughed. Since Doctor Hall Burlington had come, Enid must have told him the true story, after all! He forgot all else in that swift thought even to the bound detective who lay in the shed behind the Mathews' cottage; and realizing that he must get Burlington off the track, he stepped forward to meet the launch as it drifted in.
"Hello, Burlington!" he called easily. "Got a hurry call?" ”

“ There was nothing but the most precise earnestness in the other man's manner, however. He would have no reason to give a false description of the girl, reflected Quentin; but this thought led him into a new maze of probabilities. It was unlikely in the extreme that there would be more than one blind girl out of the lot, for that would be stretching coincidence too far. Yet the detective had been after a blind girl, his own charge was blind—or said she was blind, and here Burlington was after another one! ”

“ Hadn't you better have a description of the young woman?"
"It might help," smiled Quentin, thinking that he needed little description of the person in question. He glanced at his watch and found that he still had fifteen minutes to spare. "There'll be no trouble in locating her, though."
"Hope not," grunted Burlington, the blue eyes darting around them until Quentin felt some uneasiness lest Enid come forth for a morning stroll. "However, I know exactly the clothes she wore when she got away. She's a rather small young woman, about twenty-two in appearance, though in reality she's not so old ”