“That’s quite natural in the circumstances,” Vance returned. “But you mustn’t let her morbid attitude affect you.—And now, to change the subject: I understand that you were in the library for half an hour or so last night just before you went to the theatre. Tell me, Miss Dillard: where was your hand-bag during that time?”
The question startled her; but after a momentary hesitation she answered: “When I came into the library I placed it with my wrap on the little table by the door.”
“It was the lizard-skin bag containing the key?”
“Yes. Sigurd hates evening dress, and when we go out together I always wear my day clothes.”
“So you left the bag on the table during that half-hour, and then kept it with you the rest of the evening.—And what about this morning?”
“I went out for a walk before breakfast and carried it with me. Later I put it on the hat-rack in the hall for an hour or so; but when I started for Lady Mae’s at about ten I took it with me. It was then I discovered that the little pistol had been returned, and I postponed my call. I left the bag down-stairs in the archery-room until you and Mr. Markham came; and I’ve had it with me ever since.”
Vance thanked her whimsically.
“And now that the peregrinations of the bag have been thoroughly traced, please try to forget all about it.” She was on the point of asking a question, but he anticipated her curiosity and said quickly: “You went to the Plaza for supper last night, your uncle told us. You must have been late in getting home.”
“I never stay out very late when I go anywhere with Sigurd,” she answered, with a maternal note of complaint. “He has a constitutional aversion to any kind of night life. I begged him to stay out longer, but he looked so miserable I hadn’t the heart to remain. We actually got home at half past twelve.”
Vance rose with a gracious smile.