The policeman took it from the case.
"Yes, that's it," she murmured.
From the street came the tolling of the half hour.
"Just a week ago he started for Sunday school with it. It was a Christmas present and he took it to church for the first time."
A young man, well dressed and prosperous looking, came in and walked along the wall, gazing at the dresses and the furs. Suddenly he seized a fur boa and kissed it.
"It was her's," he cried. "May I take it with me?"
The officer told him to visit the coroner and get a certificate.
Two young men entered the place and began making flippant remarks. The officers overheard their conversation and escorted them to the threshold of the door. Two heavy boots assisted in making their exit into the street a rapid one.
THE SCENE AT THOMPSON'S RESTAURANT.
John R. Thompson's restaurant at 3 o'clock in the afternoon of the fatal day was an eating-house, decked here and there with late lunchers; at 3:20 it was a hospital, with the dead and dying stretched on the marble eating tables; at 4 o'clock it was a morgue, heaped with the dead; at 7:30 it was again a restaurant, but with chairs turned on top of the tables that had been the slabs of death, with the aisles cleared of the human debris, and the scrub woman at work mopping out the relics of human flesh, charred and as dust, and sweeping in pans the pieces of skulls that had lain about the mosaic floors, yet damp with the flowing length of woman's hair.