“Yes,” I said; “how did it get here?”
“I've no idea,” she replied, and I could see that her shallow nature fairly exulted in the sensation she was creating. “I went to New York that night, to the theatre, and I carried my gold bag, and I left it in the train when I got out at the station.”
“West Sedgwick?” I asked.
“No; I live at Marathon Park, the next station to this.”
“Next on the way to New York?”
“Yes. And when I got out of the train—I was with my husband and some other people—we had been to a little theatre party—I missed the bag. But I didn't tell Jack, because I knew he'd scold me for being so careless. I thought I'd get it back from the Lost and Found Department, and then, the very next day, I read in the paper about the—the—awful accident, and it told about a gold bag being found here.”
“You recognized it as yours?”
“Of course; for the paper described everything in it—even to the cleaner's advertisement that I'd just cut out that very day.”
“Why didn't you come and claim it at once?”
“Oh, Mr. Burroughs, you must know why I didn't! Why, I was scared 'most to death to read the accounts of the terrible affair; and to mix in it, myself—ugh! I couldn't dream of anything so horrible.”