The landlady seemed less receptive than usual, being still mindful of her husband’s admonitions. But Miss Bascom’s story of the burnt photograph roused her curiosity to highest pitch.
“There’s something queer about that girl,” Mrs. Adams opined, and the other more than agreed.
“Let’s go up and talk to her,” Miss Bascom suggested, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Adams went.
The landlady tapped lightly at the door, but there was no response.
“Go right in,” the other whispered, and go in they did.
Miss Mystery lay on the couch, her eyes closed, her cheeks still wet with tears. She did not move, and after a moment’s glance to assure herself the girl was sound asleep, Miss Bascom audaciously opened one of the small top drawers of the dresser.
Mrs. Adams gasped, and frantically made motions of remonstrance, but swiftly fingering among the veils and handkerchiefs, Miss Bascom drew out a large roll of bills, held by an elastic band.
Anita Austin’s eyes flew open, and after one staring glance at the intrusive woman, she jumped from the couch and flew at her like a small but very active tiger.
“How dare you!” she cried, snatching the money from Miss Bascom’s hand, even as that elated person was unrolling it.
And from inside the roll, down on the painted floor, fell a ruby stickpin.