“From the description Mrs. Monk, Simeon, and Ichiro gave ― you’d asked them to look for it ― the box must have been about the same size and shape as the one you told me contained the warning note to your father. Keats wanted to quiz you about it immediately, but I told him I’d handle it myself. Laurel, was it your silver box that was attached to the collar of Henderson’s defunct dog?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you mention to me the fact that a box of the same description belonging to you had disappeared shortly before June second?”
“Because I was sure it couldn’t have been the same one. The very idea was ridiculous. How could it have been my box? I got it at the May Company, and I think The Broadway and other department stores have been carrying it, too. It’s advertised for carrying vitamin tablets and things like that. There must have been thousands of them sold all over Los Angeles. I really bought it to give to Daddy. He had to take certain pills and he could have carried this around in his watch pocket. But I mislaid it―”
“Could it have been your pillbox?”
“I suppose it could, but―”
“And you never found the one you lost?”
She looked at him, worried. “Do you suppose it was?”
“I’m not supposing much of anything yet, Laurel. Just trying to get things orderly. Or just trying to get things.” Ellery opened the door and looked out cautiously. “Be sure to tell your muscular admirer that I’m returning you to him virgo intacto. I’m sort of sentimental about my clavicles.” He smiled and squeezed her fingers.
He watched until they were out of sight around the lower curve of the hill, not smiling at all.