“Which contained—” interposed Monks, stretching forward.
“Nothing,” replied the woman; “it was a pawnbroker’s duplicate.”
“For what?” demanded Monks.
“In good time I’ll tell you.” said the woman. “I judge that she had kept the trinket, for some time, in the hope of turning it to better account; and then had pawned it; and had saved or scraped together money to pay the pawnbroker’s interest year by year, and prevent its running out; so that if anything came of it, it could still be redeemed. Nothing had come of it; and, as I tell you, she died with the scrap of paper, all worn and tattered, in her hand. The time was out in two days; I thought something might one day come of it too; and so redeemed the pledge.”
“Where is it now?” asked Monks quickly.
“There,” replied the woman. And, as if glad to be relieved of it, she hastily threw upon the table a small kid bag scarcely large enough for a French watch, which Monks pouncing upon, tore open with trembling hands. It contained a little gold locket: in which were two locks of hair, and a plain gold wedding-ring.
“It has the word ‘Agnes’ engraved on the inside,” said the woman.
“There is a blank left for the surname; and then follows the date; which is within a year before the child was born. I found out that.”
“And this is all?” said Monks, after a close and eager scrutiny of the contents of the little packet.
“All,” replied the woman.