Under the blue-leather case lay a powder-compact, its lid covered in petit-point.
Cynthia dropped the blue case on the floor, and eagerly snatched the compact from the box. Her cheeks were suddenly flushed, and her eyes sparkling. She cast a quick look at Hemingway, and said: "It's the one I lost. My favourite one! Mummy must have found it, and - and put it here to be safe!"
"Nonsense, child!" said Miss Pickhill. "Why should your mother have done any such thing? Put it back, for goodness' sake!"
"It's mine, I tell you! It's mine!" Cynthia declared clasping it tightly to her bosom. "It's' the one Dan gave me! No one but me has any right to it!"
"May I see it, miss?" said Hemingway, holding out his hand.
She backed away from him, frightened, staring at him. "No! Why should you? It isn't my mother's! Send for Miss Birtley! She'll tell you it's truly mine!"
"I'm not doubting that, miss, but I should like to see it."
Rather unexpectedly, Miss Pickhill took her niece's part. "There is no need to be hysterical, Cynthia, but I'm bound to say I can see no reason why you should want to look at a powder-compact, Chief Inspector!"
"No, madam, very likely not. Come, miss! Mr.. Eddleston here will tell you that you mustn't try to obstruct me in the performance of my duty."
"But it has nothing to do with you! Look, I'll put it back in Mummy's box, and Mr.. Eddleston can keep it! I don't mind doing that!"