"Yes, she's a queer duck. I saw her: I even did an errand for her—that was before you sat down here."
"You did an errand for her?"
"Yes; she wanted a newspaper. Of course I was glad to get it for her, as she said she was lame."
"Lame?"
"Yes; I suppose she spoke the truth. I didn't think of her being in any special trouble, but I did think her an odd one. She seemed to be wearing two dresses."
Mr. Gryce started and turned sharply toward him.
"What's that you say? What do you mean by that?"
"Why, this: when she stopped to get her money out of some hidden pocket, she pulled up the skirt of her dress, and I saw another one under it. Perhaps she thought that was the easiest way of carrying it. I noticed that her suit-case was a small one."
"Describe that under-frock to me." Mr. Gryce's air and tone were unaccountably earnest. "What was its color?"
"Why, reddish, I think. No, it had stripes in it and something like spots. Do you suppose it was her petticoat?"