He'll have to owe his gratitude to me. And there's
something else I can do for him, perhaps--I, and only I. A thing of
value was stolen from him, it seems, a thing he was anxious to get back
at any price--even the price of looking for it on a dead man's body.
Well, I think I know what that thing was--I think I have it."
"What do you mean?" I asked, astonished at her and at her manner--and
her words.
"I'm not going to tell you what I mean. Only I'm sure of what I'm
saying--at least, that the thing _is_ valuable, worth risking a great
deal for. I learned that from experts this morning, while you and your
aunt were thinking about hats."
For an instant I was completely bewildered. Then, suddenly, a strange
idea sprang into my mind:
"That brocade bag you picked up in the Rue d'Hollande last night!"
It was the first time I had thought of it from that moment to
this--there had been so many other things which seemed more important.
Lisa looked annoyed. I think she had counted on my not remembering, or
not connecting her hints with the thing she had found in the street, and
that she had wanted to tantalise me.
"I won't say whether I mean the brocade bag or not, and whether, if I
do, that I believe Ivor dropped it, or whether there was another man
mixed up in the case--perhaps the real murderer.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251