"Disposed of the contents," said a voice from the sidewalk.
Hinpoha, who had been on a pinnacle of hope for her scarf ever since they had recognized the trunk, slumped into despair again when she saw that it was empty.
"Is that your trunk, lady?" asked the policeman.
"It looks like it," said Gladys.
"It answered her description all right," said the voice in the circle.
"Where did you get the trunk and from whom?" asked the policeman of Mr. Johnson.
"None of your business," replied that individual, with a savage look. "But it's mine, I tell you."
Here his companion pulled out his watch and uttered an exclamation.
"Give her the trunk and come along," he said, in a stage whisper. "We'll never make it if we stand here bantering all day."
Scowling like a thundercloud, Mr. Johnson gave the trunk a savage kick as it stood on the sidewalk and got back into the car, snapping out that it was his and never would have given it up if he wasn't in such a tearing hurry. The grey car glided away in a cloud of dust and the policeman lifted the trunk to the rack of the Striped Beetle.