"Did you go anywhere on your way to and from the theatre?"
"No, I think not—oh, yes, we did, too; just before we went into the theatre Mr. Lawrence insisted on stopping at the florist's for some violets. He said no matinée girl was complete without a bunch of violets."
"And did you pin them on your gown?" asked Stone, as if in a most casual way.
"No, indeed," said Miss Waring; "I never do that. It spoils a nice gown to pin flowers on it."
"And what did you do with the pin?"
"What pin?"
"The pin that a florist always gives you with violets."
"Oh, yes, those purple-headed pins. Why, I don't know what I did do with it." The girl's pretty brow wrinkled in her endeavor to remember, and then cleared as she said: "Oh, yes, it comes back to me now! When I said I wouldn't use it, lest the flowers should spoil my gown, I handed it to Mr. Lawrence, and he stuck it in his coat lapel—underneath, you know—for, he said, perhaps I might change my mind. But, of course, I didn't, and I'm sure I don't know what became of the pin. Do you want one? I have dozens of them up-stairs."
"No," said Fleming Stone; "and I don't think we need encroach further on your time, Miss Waring. I thank you for your goodness in seeing us, and I would like to ask you to say nothing about this interview for twenty-four hours. After that you need not consider it confidential."
I believe Fleming Stone's manner would have wheedled a promise out of the Egyptian Sphinx, and I was not in the least surprised to hear Miss Waring agree to his stipulations.