“Yes,” again admitted Mary. “But I didn’t know—”
“Where and how did you ever get it?” asked Mrs. Corday.
“I went to get Yvette’s things,” (the girls noticed how she used the name instead of “mother,”) “and everything there was in confusion. The attendants said the manager was very ill.”
“He was,” said the widow, solemnly.
“And it was difficult for me to know just what was—my mother’s,” continued Mary. “But she had been so proud of her trophies and wanted me to have every one of them. Her trunk was easy enough to identify but there were some things in the safe.”
“We always kept the valuables locked in the safe,” explained Mrs. Corday.
“Finally, I had everything checked up, and was ready to leave when a queer old man rushed up to me and begged me to take the string of dark beads.”
“An old man? What did they call him?” asked the woman excitedly.
“Jim, I think. He acted queerly and I thought him—sort of crazy!”
“Jim! Poor old Jim! And he got hold of that precious clue,” murmured Mrs. Corday. “We never thought of asking Jim. He was only a groom, but as devoted to Mr. Corday as a big dog—”