Nick looked grave.
"Well, it seems there's—er—a kind of secret concerned," he explained. "The thing required is that we don't ask questions. And perhaps you'll agree, for what you want is the bag."
Desperately obliterating all expression from his face, and hoping that his eyes were not anxious, Nick took from his pocket a gold bag whose diamonds, alternating with sapphires, sparkled as the sunshine struck them.
Angela accepted it delightedly, with but a superficial glance at the bag itself. "Why, there's something inside!" she exclaimed.
"Only money," he hurried to break the news. "Not the purse, nor the check-book. I'm mighty sorry, but they're both gone. The police did their best. May get them later."
Angela opened the bag. "Five hundred dollars," she said counting rapidly. "Now, isn't that odd? I didn't think I had quite so much! How queer the money should have come back without the purse it was in, and especially the check-book. One would think that would be of little value to a thief."
"There's no accounting for a thief's ways," said Nick solemnly. "And I guess a lady can't always remember to a dollar or two what money she had."
"No-o," Angela admitted. "But—it looks different, somehow." She glanced again at the outside of the bag, and Nick's heart jumped. "The bag looks different, too," she said. "Newer, and——"
"As a matter of fact I took the liberty of having it cleaned up before it came back to your hands."
"But the stones——"