Of the three men who had brought her in from the seat on which Donovan had found her, Sergeant Brady was the only one who had seen the small leather bag, which he had picked up from the ground and placed on the litter. But Sergeant Brady then was absent with the attendant, and no further search was made for the missing bag, for the girl said indifferently:
“It don’t matter, sir. I may not have had it. May I go home? I really must. You have no right to detain me here.”
Donovan did not hear what then passed between Doctor Devoll and his mysteriously afflicted patient. The ward door had been opened, and Sergeant Brady beckoned to the policeman and drew him into the corridor, closing the door.
“Well, what has she said for herself, Jim?” he inquired, gazing grimly at the policeman.
“Faith, it’s the same old story, sergeant,” Donovan replied significantly. “She can’t tell what happened to her. She don’t know enough to last her overnight.”
“Humph!” Brady grunted. “I suspected as much.”
“She seems to be on the level, though.”
“Level be hanged!” Brady spoke with a derisive snarl. “None of them was on the level, Jim, or we would have been able to trace them and find some solution of the mystery. Not one of them could be found after she left the hospital.”
“That’s true, sergeant. Sure, it does seem a bit strange.”
“I got Chief Gleason on the phone by calling up his house. He had gone home from headquarters. I reported the case to him, as he directed, and—say nothing about this, mind you.”