As he shut down the window-sash and clamped the catch he trod on something
soft and yielding. Wondering, he stooped and picked it up, and carried it
back to the light. It proved to be the girl's hand-bag.
"Now," admitted Maitland in a tone of absolute candor, "I am damned. How
the dickens did this thing get there, anyway? What was she doing in my
trunk-closet?"
Was it possible that she had followed Anisty out of the flat by that
route? A very much mystified young man sat himself down again in front of
his desk, and turned the bag over and over in his hands, keenly
scrutinizing every inch of it, and whistling softly.
That year the fashion in purses was for capacious receptacles of grained
leather, nearly square in shape, and furnished with a chain handle. This
which Maitland held was conspicuously of the mode,--neither too large,
nor too small, constructed of fine soft leather of a gun-metal shade, with
a framework and chain of gun-metal itself. It was new and seemed
well-filled, weighing a trifle heavy in the hand. One face was adorned
with a monogram of cut gun-metal, the initials "S" and "G" and "L"
interlaced. But beyond this the bag was irritatingly non-committal.
Undoubtedly, if one were to go to the length of unsnapping the little,
frail clasp, one would acquire information; by such facile means would
much light be shed upon the darkness. But Maitland put a decided negative
to the suggestion.
No. He would give her the benefit of the doubt.
Pages:
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212