Mr. HERBERT Burroughs,
Dear Sir: Yes, I have lost a gold bag, and I have known all along that it is the one the newspapers are talking so much about in connection with the Crawford case. I know, too, that you are the detective on the case, and though I can't imagine how you did it, I think it was awfully clever of you to trace the bag to me, for I'm sure my name wasn't in it anywhere. As I say, the bag is mine, but I didn't kill Mr. Crawford, and I don't know who did. I would go straight to you, and tell you all about it, but I am afraid of detectives and lawyers, and I don't want to be mixed up in the affair anyway. But I am going to see Miss Lloyd, and explain it all to her, and then she can tell you. Please don't let my name get in the papers, as I hate that sort of prominence.
Very truly yours,
ELIZABETH CUNNINGHAM.
I smiled a little over the femininity of the letter, but as Parmalee had prophesied, Marathon Park was evidently no place to look for our criminal.
The foolish little woman who had written that letter, had no guilty secret on her conscience, of that I was sure.
I telephoned for Parmalee and showed him the letter.
“It doesn't help us in one way,” he said, “for of course, Mrs. Cunningham is not implicated. But the bag is still a clue, for how did it get into Mr. Crawford's office?”
“We must find out who Mr. Cunningham is,” I suggested.
“He's not the criminal, either. If he had left his wife's bag there, he never would have let her send this letter.”