is not your bag, Miss Lloyd," he said, with some asperity,
"how did it get on Mr. Crawford's desk late last night? The butler has
assured me it was not there when he looked in at a little after ten
o'clock. Yet this morning it lay there, in plain sight on the desk.
Whose bag is it?"

"I have not the slightest idea," said Miss Lloyd firmly; "but, I repeat,
it is not mine."

"Easy enough to see the trend of Monroe's questions," said Parmalee in
my ear. "If he can prove this bag to be Miss Lloyd's, it shows that
she was in the office after ten o'clock last night, and this she has
denied."

"Don't you believe her?" said I.

"Indeed I don't. Of course she was there, and of course it's her bag.
She put that pretty maid of hers up to deny it, but any one could see
the maid was lying, also."

"Oh, come now, Parmalee, that's too bad! You've no right to say such
things!"

"Oh, pshaw! you think the same yourself, only you think it isn't
chivalrous to put it into words."

Of course what annoyed me in Parmalee's speech was its inherent truth. I
didn't believe Florence Lloyd. Much as I wanted to, I couldn't; for the
appearance, manner and words of both women were not such as to inspire
belief in their hearers.

If she and Elsa were in collusion to deny her ownership of the bag, it
would be hard to prove the contrary, for the men-servants could not be
supposed to know, and I had no doubt Mrs. Pierce would testify as Miss
Lloyd did on any matter.

I was sorry not to put more confidence in the truth of the testimony
I was hearing, but I am, perhaps, sceptical by nature. And, too, if
Florence Lloyd were in any way implicated in the death of her uncle, I
felt pretty sure she would not hesitate at untruth.

Her marvellous magnetism attracted me strongly, but it did not blind me
to the strength of her nature. While I could not, as yet, believe her in
any way implicated in the death of her uncle, I was fully convinced she
knew more concerning it than she had told and I knew, unless forced to,
she would not tell what she desired to keep secret.

My sympathy, of course, was with her, but my duty was plain. As a
detective, I must investigate fairly, or give up the case.

At this juncture, I knew the point at issue was the presence of Miss
Lloyd in the office last night, and the two yellow rose petals I had
picked up on the floor might prove a clue.

At any rate it was my duty to investigate the point, so taking a card
from my