Her surprise at the question was manifest in her manner.
“He might have,” she said. “I have a dreadful habit of dropping my handkerchiefs around.”
“Did you miss one after his visit to your house on Monday night?”
“No.”
“Miss McIntyre,” Penfield took up the handkerchief which the foreman replaced on his desk a moment before, and holding it with care extended it toward the girl. “Is this your handkerchief?”
She inspected the handkerchief and the initial with curiosity, but with nothing more, Kent was convinced, and in his relief was almost guilty of disturbing the decorum of the inquest with a shout of joy.
“It is not my handkerchief,” she stated clearly.
Penfield replaced the handkerchief on the table with the same care he had picked it up, and turned again to her.
“Thank you, Miss McIntyre; I won't detain you longer. Logan,” to the morgue master, “ask Dr. Stone to step here.”
Almost immediately Stone reentered the room and hurried to the platform.