, whispered: "Striking
coincidence, isn't it?"

Although his sarcasm voiced my own thoughts, yet it irritated me
horribly to hear him say it.

"But ninety-nine women out of a hundred would experience the same
coincidence," I returned.

"But the other ninety-eight weren't in the house last night, and she
was."

At this moment Mrs. Pierce, whom I had suspected of feeling far deeper
interest than she had so far shown, volunteered a remark.

"Of course that isn't Florence's bag," she said; "if Florence had gone
to her uncle's office last evening, she would have been wearing her
dinner gown, and certainly would not carry a street bag."

"Is this a street bag?" inquired Mr. Monroe, looking with a masculine
helplessness at the gilt bauble.

"Of course it is," said Mrs. Pierce, who now that she had found her
voice, seemed anxious to talk. "Nobody ever carries a bag like that in
the house,--in the evening."

"But," began Parmalee, "such a thing might have occurred, if Miss Lloyd
had had occasion to go to her uncle's office with, we will say, papers
or notes."

Personally I thought this an absurd suggestion, but Mr. Monroe seemed to
take it seriously.

"That might be," he said, and I could see that momentarily the
suspicions against Florence Lloyd were growing in force and were taking
definite shape.

As I noted the expressions, on the various faces, I observed that only
Mr. Philip Crawford and the jurors Hamilton and Porter seemed entirely
in sympathy with the girl. The coroner, Parmalee, and even the lawyer,
Randolph, seemed to be willing, almost eager for her to incriminate
herself.

Gregory Hall, who should have been the most sympathetic of all, seemed
the most coldly indifferent, and as for Mrs. Pierce, her actions were so
erratic and uncertain, no one could tell what she thought.

"You are quite positive it is not your bag?" repeated the coroner once
more.

"I'm positive it is not mine," returned Miss Lloyd, without undue
emphasis, but with an air of dismissing the subject.

"Is your maid present?" asked the coroner. "Let her be summoned."

Elsa came forward, the pretty, timid young girl, of German effects, whom
I had already noticed.

"Have you ever seen this bag before?" asked the coroner, holding it up
before her.

"Yes, sir."

"When?"

"This morning, sir. Lambert showed it to me, sir. He said he found it in
Mr. Crawford's office."

The girl was very pale, and trembled pitiably. She seemed