“Mistake? How?” snapped the other.
“Regarding the identity of the sweater.”
“I tell you I recognized it. I know I knitted it. I certainly know my own work. And why should I be cross-questioned, please?”
“My name is Ruth Fielding,” Ruth explained. “I happen to have at present a very deep interest in the Red Cross work—especially in our local chapter. Did you give your sweater to our local chapter?”
“Why—no. But what does that matter?” and the woman in black began to show anger. “Do you doubt my word?”
“You offer no corroborative evidence, and you make a very serious charge,” Ruth said. “Don’t be angry. If what you say is true, it is a terrible thing. Of course, there may be people using the name of the Red Cross who are neither patriotic nor honest. Let us run each of these seemingly wicked things down—if it is possible. Let us get at the truth.”
“I have told you the truth, Miss Fielding. And I consider you insulting—most unladylike.”
“Mrs. Mantel,” said Ruth Fielding gravely, “whether I speak and act as a lady should make little material difference in the long run. But whether a great organization, which is working for the amelioration of suffering on the battle front and in our training camps, is maligned, is of very great moment, indeed.
“In my presence no such statement as you have just made can go unchallenged. You must help me prove, or disprove it. We must find the girl and discover just how she came by the sweater. If it had been stolen and given to her she would be very likely to tell you just what you say she did. But that does not prove the truth of her statement.”
“Nor of mine, I suppose you would say!” cried Mrs. Mantel.