“Why, Mrs. Cunningham?”

“Well, I kept it secret as long as I could, but yesterday Jack saw that I had something on my mind.  I couldn’t fool him any longer.”

“As to your having a mind!” I said to myself, but I made no comment aloud.

“So I told him all about it, and he said I must come at once and tell Miss Lloyd, because, you see, they thought it was her bag all the time.”

“Yes,” I said gravely; “it would have been better if you had come at first, with your story.  Have you any one to substantiate it, or any proofs that it is the truth?”

The blue eyes regarded me with an injured expression.  Then she brightened again.

“Oh, yes, I can `prove property’; that’s what you mean, isn’t it?  I can tell you which glove finger is ripped, and just how much money is in the bag, and—­and here’s a handkerchief exactly like the one I carried that night.  Jack said if I told you all these things, you’d know it’s my bag, and not Miss Lloyd’s.”

“And then, there was a card in it.”

“A card?  My card?”

“No, not your card; a card with another name on it.  Don’t you know whose?”

Mrs. Cunningham thought for a moment.  Then, “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed.  “Mrs. Purvis gave me her card, and I tucked it in the pocket of the bag.  Was that the way you discovered the bag was mine?  And how did that make you know it.”

“I’ll tell you about that some other time if you wish, Mrs. Cunningham; but just now I want to get at the important part of your story.  How did your gold bag get in Mr. Crawford’s office?”

“Ah, how did it?” The laughing face was sober now and she seemed appalled at the question.  “Jack says some one must have found it in the car-seat where I left it, and he”—­she lowered her voice —­“he must be the—­”

“The murderer,” I supplied calmly.  “It does look that way.  You have witnesses, I suppose, who saw you in that train?”

“Mercy, yes!  Lots of them.  The train reaches Marathon Park at 12:  50, and is due here at one o’clock.  Ever so many people got out at our station.  There were six in our own party, and others besides.  And the conductor knows me, and everybody knows Jack.  He’s Mr. John Le Roy Cunningham.”

It was impossible to doubt all this.  Further corroboration it might be well to get, but there was not the slightest question in my mind as to the little lady’s truthfulness.

“I thank you, Mrs. Cunningham,” I said, “for coming to us with your story.  You may not be able to get your bag to-day, but I assure you it will, be sent to you as soon as a few inquiries can be made.  These are merely for the sake of formalities, for, as you say, your fellow townspeople can certify to your presence on the train, and your leaving it at the Marathon Park station.”