"Yes, just a moment or so ago," replied the stranger. "She got into an automobile at the corner. I imagine this is hers," and he extended a handkerchief, a dainty, perfumed trifle of lace. "I picked it up immediately after she passed."
Mr. Grimm took the handkerchief and examined it under the light. For a time he was thoughtful, with lowered eyes, which, finally raised, met those of the stranger with a scrutinizing stare.
"Why," asked Mr. Grimm slowly and distinctly, "why did you slam the door in the girl's face?"
"Why did I—what?" came the answering question.
"Why did you slam the door in the girl's face?" Mr. Grimm repeated slowly.
The stranger stared in utter amazement—an amazement so frank, so unacted, so genuine, that Mr. Grimm was satisfied.
"Did you see a man come out the door?" Mr. Grimm pursued.
"No. Say, young fellow, I guess you've had a little too much to drink, haven't you?"
But by that time Mr. Grimm was turning the corner.