“How should I know? She asked me for a string to tie a package. Lots of them ask for string, or a piece of corrugated paper, or a card to write a greeting on.”
“Was that all?”
“That was about all.”
“Look!” exclaimed Lucile. “Who put that there?”
She was pointing to a loose end of wrapping paper through which had been drawn and neatly tied a bit of crimson thread with a single purple strand.
“Search me,” smiled Cordie. “How should I know?”
While Lucile was disengaging the thread and thrusting it in her pocket, Cordie was searching the top of her desk.
“That’s funny,” she said at last. “It was here a moment ago. Now it’s gone.”
“What?”
“My iron ring.”