THE GOLD BAG
"Is this yours?" asked Mr. Monroe, suddenly whisking into sight the gold-mesh bag.
Probably his intent had been to startle her, and thus catch her off her guard. If so, he succeeded, for the girl was certainly startled, if only at the suddenness of the query.
"N-no," she stammered; "it's - it's not mine."
"Are you sure?" the coroner went on, a little more gently, doubtless moved by her agitation.
"I'm - I'm quite sure. Where did you find it?"
"What size gloves do you wear, Miss Lloyd?"
"Number six." She said this mechanically, as if thinking of something else, and her face was white.
"These are number six," said the coroner, as he took a pair of gloves from the bag. "Think again, Miss Lloyd. Do you not own a gold-chain bag, such as this?"
"I have one something like that - or, rather, I did have one."
"Ah! And what did you do with it?"
"I gave it to my maid, Elsa, some days ago."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because I was tired of it, and as it was a trifle worn, I had ceased to care to carry it."
"Is it not a somewhat expensive trinket to turn over to your maid?"
"No; they are not real gold. At least, I mean mine was not. It was gilt over silver, and cost only about twelve or fourteen dollars when new."
"What did you usually carry in it?"
"What every woman carries in such a bag. Handkerchief, some small change, perhaps a vanity-box, gloves, tickets - whatever would be needed on an afternoon's calling or shopping tour."
"Miss Lloyd, you have enumerated almost exactly the articles in this bag."
"Then that is a coincidence, for it is not my bag."
The girl was entirely self-possessed again, and even a little aggressive.
I admit that I did not believe her statements. Of course I could not be sure she was telling untruths, but her sudden embarrassment at the first sight of the bag, and the way in which she regained her self-possession, made me doubt her clear conscience in the matter.
Parmalee, who had come over and sat beside me, whispered:
"Striking coincidence, isn't it?"
Although his sarcasm voiced my own thoughts, yet it irritated me horribly to hear him say it.
"But ninety-nine women out of a hundred would experience the same coincidence," I returned.
"But the other ninety-eight weren't in the house last night, and she was."
At this moment Mrs. Pierce, whom I had suspected of feeling far deeper interest than she had so far shown, volunteered a remark.
"Of course that isn't Florence's bag," she said; "if Florence had gone to her uncle's office last evening, she would have been wearing her dinner gown, and certainly would not carry a street bag."
"Is this a street bag?" inquired Mr. Monroe, looking with a masculine helplessness at the gilt bauble.
"Of course it is," said Mrs. Pierce, who now that she had found her voice, seemed anxious to talk. "Nobody ever carries a bag like that in the house, - in the evening."
"But," began Parmalee, "such a thing might have occurred, if Miss Lloyd had had occasion to go to her uncle's office with, we will say, papers or notes."
Personally I thought this an absurd suggestion, but Mr. Monroe seemed to take it seriously.
"That might be," he said, and I could see that momentarily the suspicions against Florence Lloyd were growing in force and were taking definite shape.
As I noted the expressions, on the various faces, I observed that only Mr. Philip Crawford and the jurors Hamilton and Porter seemed entirely in sympathy with the girl. The coroner, Parmalee, and even the lawyer, Randolph, seemed to be willing, almost eager for her to incriminate herself.
Gregory Hall, who should have been the most sympathetic of all, seemed the most coldly indifferent, and as for Mrs. Pierce, her actions were so erratic and uncertain, no one could tell what she thought.
"You are quite positive it is not your bag?" repeated the coroner once more.
"I'm positive it is not mine," returned Miss Lloyd, without undue emphasis, but with an air of dismissing the subject.
"Is your maid present?" asked the coroner. "Let her be summoned."
Elsa came forward, the pretty, timid young girl, of German effects, whom I had already noticed.
"Have you ever seen this bag before?" asked the coroner, holding it up before her.
"Yes, sir."
"When?"
"This morning, sir. Lambert showed it to me, sir. He said he found it in Mr. Crawford's office."
The girl was very pale, and trembled pitiably. She seemed afraid of the coroner, of Lambert, of Miss Lloyd, and of the jury. It might have been merely the unreasonable fear of an ignorant mind, but it had the appearance of some more definite apprehension.
Especially did she seem afraid of the man, Louis. Though perhaps the distressed glances she cast at him were not so much those of fear as of anxiety.
The coroner spoke kindly to her, and really seemed to take more notice of her embarrassment, and make more effort to put her at her ease than he had done with Miss Lloyd.
"Is it Miss Lloyd's bag?"
"I don't think so, sir."
"Don't you know? As her personal maid, you must be acquainted with her belongings."
"Yes, sir. No, it isn't hers, sir."
But as this statement was made after a swift but noticeable glance of inquiry at her mistress, a slight distrust of Elsa formed in my own mind, and probably in the minds of others.
"She has one like this, has she not?"
"She - she did have, sir; but she - she gave it to me."
"Yes? Then go and get it and let us see it."
"I haven't it now, sir. I - I gave it away."
"Oh, you gave it away! To whom? Can you get it back?"
"No, sir; I gave it to my cousin, who sailed for Germany last week."
Miss Lloyd looked up in surprise, and that look of surprise told against her. I could see Parmalee's eyes gleam as he concluded in his own mind that the bag story was all false, was made up between mistress and maid, and that the part about the departing cousin was an artistic touch added by Elsa.
The coroner, too, seemed inclined to disbelieve the present witness, and he sat thoughtfully snapping the catch of the bag.
