"Where's the hand-bag which was in that cab?"
"Hand-bag?" returned the driver. "I ain't seen no hand-bag. So far I ain't hardly seen the bloomin' cab."
A voice was heard at Mr. Roland's elbows.
"This here bloke picked up a bag--I see him do it."
Mr. Roland's grip fastened on the shoulder of the "bloke" alluded to, an undersized youth apparently not yet in his teens. The young gentleman resented the attention.
"'Old 'ard, guv'nor! I picked up the bag, that's all right; I was just a-wondering who it might belong to."
"It belongs to the lady who was riding in the cab. Kindly hand it over."
It was "handed over"; borne back into the chemist's shop; proffered to Miss Angel.
"I believe that this is the missing bag, apparently not much the worse for its various adventures."
"It is the bag." She opened it. Apparently it was empty. But on her manipulating an unseen fastening an inner pocket was disclosed. From it she took a folded paper. "And here is the will!"