There was something in her manner which was to me the reverse of convincing. I felt absolutely certain that this unimportant object had, in reality, been identified by her, and that with some hidden motive she was now intentionally misleading me.
“Then you do not believe that this really belonged to your friend?” I asked, holding it up to her gaze.
“No,” she answered quickly, averting her face as though the sight of it were obnoxious. “I feel certain that it did not. Its resemblance is striking—that’s all.”
“It would have been a remarkable coincidence if it really were the property of your friend,” I said.
“Very remarkable,” she admitted, still regarding me strangely. “Yet the trite saying that ‘The world is small’ is nevertheless very true. When I first saw it I felt certain it belonged to a gentleman I knew, but on closer examination I find it is older, more battered, and bears initials which have evidently been engraved several years.”
“Where did your friend lose his?” I inquired, reflecting upon the lameness of her story. The mere recognition of a lost pencil-case would never have affected her in the manner that sight of this one had if there were not some deeper meaning attached to it.
“I have no idea. Indeed, I am not at all sure that it is not still in his possession.”
“And how came you to be so well acquainted with its aspect?” I asked, in eagerness to ascertain the truth.
She hesitated for a few moments. “Because,” she faltered—“because it was a present from me.”
“To an admirer?”