“Oh, yes, sir.”
“How?”
“Just Salvation Army Headquarters, New York, N. Y.”
“No address in the corner as to whom it came from?”
“Oh, no, sir. Mrs. Ives never——”
“Be good enough to confine yourself to the question. You are not aware, yourself, of the exact nature of these stains, are you, Miss Roberts?”
“Yes, sir, I am,” said the pink-cheeked Miss Roberts firmly. “They were grease stains.”
“What?” The prosecutor’s startled voice skipped half an octave. “Didn’t you distinctly tell me that you didn’t see this coat?”
“No, sir, no more I did. It was Mrs. Ives that told me they were grease stains.”
The prosecutor indulged in a brief bark of mirth that indicated more relief than amusement. “Then, as I say, you are unable to tell us of your own knowledge?”