“You thought they had been after you. I thought it was the reckless prank of some rich young people. You were right. The boat was driven by one of the younger gamblers. His pal and two gypsies were on board. They suspected you; meant to drown you. They got us instead. And that’s that.” Florence sighed.
“Now the trunk.” Everyone moved forward. “Not so fast,” she cautioned. “I am going to account for its presence here.
“You thought—” again she turned to the lady cop, “that the gamblers got your trunk. They meant to. They were a few hours late. Tillie and I got it the night before.”
“You?” There was incredulity in the lady cop’s eyes.
“That’s once when a prank turned out well,” Florence smiled. “Tillie and I meant to fill it with balsam tips and return it. We have. See!”
She threw up the lid of the trunk, and at once the air of the room was heavy with the natural perfume of the forest.
“We kept the trunk till now,” she said quietly. “And that’s that.
“And now we come to our big night, Tillie’s and mine, the night we were kidnapped.
“In this instance there were three possibilities. It might have been a prank indulged in by reckless young people. The gamblers may have done it, or the gypsies. Tillie thought it was the work of the gamblers. Because she came upon a gypsy feast that night, Jeanne blamed the gypsies. They were both right.
“By this time the two rather striking young gypsy girls had learned who Jeanne was. They had hated her in France. They hated her still. They could not get at her. She stayed in the cabin. They proposed to take out their spite on her friends. The gamblers hated Tillie. They combined forces and prepared to show us a rough time. Well,” she ended grimly, “they succeeded.