“I'm a detective, madam,” I began, and the remark startled her out of her calm.
“A detective!” she cried out, with much the same tone as if I had said a rattlesnake.
“Do not be alarmed, I merely state my profession to explain my errand.”
“Not be alarmed! when a detective comes to see me! How can I help it? Why, I've never had such an experience before. It is shocking! I've met many queer people in the States, but not a detective! Reporters are bad enough!”
“Don't let it disturb you so, Mrs. Purvis. I assure you there is nothing to trouble you in the fact of my presence here, unless it is trouble of your own making.”
“Trouble of my own making!” she almost shrieked. “Tell me at once what you mean, or I shall ring the bell and have you dismissed.”
Her fear and excitement made me think that perhaps I was on the track of new developments, and lest she should carry out her threat of ringing the bell, I plunged at once into the subject.
“Mrs. Purvis, have you lost a gold-mesh bag?” I said bluntly.
“No, I haven't,” she snapped, “and if I had, I should take means to recover it, and not wait for a detective to come and ask me about it.”
I was terribly disappointed. To be sure she might be telling a falsehood about the bag, but I didn't think so. She was angry, annoyed, and a little frightened at my intrusion, but she was not at all embarrassed at my question.