I thanked my stars that I had been thoughtful enough to obtain the card before leaving West Sedgwick, and taking it from my pocket-book, I gave it to her.

“Oh, that one!” she said; “perhaps I can help you a little, Mr. Burroughs.  That is an old-fashioned card, one of a few left over from an old lot.  I have been using them only lately, because my others gave out.  I have really gone much more into society in New York than I had anticipated, and my cards seemed fairly to melt away.  I ordered some new ones here, but before they were sent to me I was obliged to use a few of these old-fashioned ones.  I don’t know that this would help you, but I think I can tell pretty nearly to whom I gave those cards.”

It seemed a precarious sort of a chance, but as I talked with Mrs. Purvis, I felt more and more positive that she herself was not implicated in the Crawford case.  However, it was just as well to make certain.  She had gone to her writing-desk, and seemed to be looking over a diary or engagement book.

“Mrs. Purvis,” I said, “will you tell me where you were on Tuesday evening of last week?”

“Certainly;” and she turned back the leaves of the book.  “I went to a theatre party with my friends, the Hepworths; and afterward, we went to a little supper at a restaurant.  I returned here about midnight.  Must I prove this?” she added, smiling; “for I can probably do so, by the hotel clerk and by my maid.  And, of course, by my friends who gave the party.”

“No, you needn’t prove it,” I answered, certain now that she knew nothing of the Crawford matter; “but I hope you can give me more information about your card.”

“Why, I remember that very night, I gave my cards to two ladies who were at the theatre with us; and I remember now that at that time I had only these old-fashioned cards.  I was rather ashamed of them, for Americans are punctilious in such matters; and now that I think of it, one of the ladies was carrying a gold-mesh bag.”

“Who was she?” I asked, hardly daring to hope that I had really struck the trail.

“I can’t seem to remember her name, but perhaps it will come to me.  It was rather an English type of name, something like Coningsby.”

“Where did she live?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.  You see I meet these ladies so casually, and I really never expect to see any of them again.  Our exchange of cards is a mere bit of formal courtesy.  No, I can’t remember her name, or where she was from.  But I don’t think she was a New Yorker.”

Truly it was hard to come so near getting what might be vital information, and yet have it beyond my grasp!  It was quite evident that Mrs. Purvis was honestly trying to remember the lady’s name, but could not do so.

And then I had what seemed to me an inspiration.  “Didn’t she give you her card?” I asked.

A light broke over Mrs. Purvis’s face.  “Why, yes, of course she did!  And I’m sure I can find it.”