“Either the original owner—whoever he is—or my mother’s ghost. You read of queer things like that sometimes, things that never can be explained by the living. Perhaps when we are dead we shall understand.... I don’t know.... I dreamed about Mother night before last, and in the dream I promised her to throw away the necklace.... So I’m almost thankful it’s gone.”
Mary Louise let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m so glad it doesn’t worry you, Miss Grant. I was afraid you’d suspect Elsie.”
The sick woman’s eyes flashed angrily.
“I do still suspect Elsie of taking my gold!” The old expression of greed crossed her face. “You haven’t found it for me yet, have you, Mary Louise?”
“No, I haven’t, Miss Grant.”
“Where is Elsie?” was the next question.
Mary Louise hesitated: she hated to answer this.
“She is—lost. She went away yesterday—Sunday morning—and hasn’t come back yet.”
Miss Grant nodded significantly.