"Porter," she said in her low, sweet voice, "I have, somehow, made a very dreadful mistake somewhere. I have a man's overcoat here which does not belong to me. The cloth is exactly like the cloth of my own travelling ulster, and I must have forgotten that I had mine on when I took this."
"Ain't de gemman abohd de Speshul, Miss?" inquired the porter.
"I'm afraid not. I'm certain that I must have taken it in the station restaurant and brought it aboard the train."
"Ain't nuff'n in de pockets, is dey?" asked the porter.
"Yes; there's a wallet strapped with a rubber[213] band. I didn't feel at liberty to open it. But I suppose I ought to in order to find out the owner's name if possible."
"De gemman's name ain't sewed inside de pocket, is it, Miss?"
"I didn't look," she said.
So the porter took the coat, turned it inside out, explored the inside pocket, found the label, and read:
"Snipps Brothers: December, 1913. George Z. Green."
A stifled exclamation from the girl checked him. Green also protruded his head cautiously from his own doorway.