“Yes,” she replied; “and”—­she handed me a paper—­“there’s my husband’s address, and his lawyer’s address, and the addresses of all the people that were in our party that night.  Jack said you might like to have the list.  He would have come himself to-day, only he’s fearfully busy.  And I said I didn’t mind coming alone, just to see Miss Lloyd.  I wouldn’t have gone to a jury meeting, though.  And I’m in no hurry for the bag.  In fact, I don’t care much if I never get it.  It wasn’t the value of the thing that made me come at all, but the fear that my bag might make trouble for Miss Lloyd.  Jack said it might.  I don’t see how, myself, but I’m a foolish little thing, with no head for business matters.”  She shook her head, and gurgled an absurd little laugh, and then, after a loquacious leave-taking, she went away.

“Well?” I said to Florence, and then, “Well?” Florence said to me.

It was astonishing how rapidly our acquaintance had progressed.  Already we had laid aside all formality of speech and manner, and if the girl had not really discovered my mental attitude toward her, at least I think she must have suspected it.

“Of course,” I began, “I knew it wasn’t your bag, because you said it wasn’t.  But I did incline a little to the `woman visitor’ theory, and now that is destroyed.  I think we must conclude that the bag was brought here by the person who found it on that midnight train.”

“Why didn’t that person turn it over to the conductor?” she said, more as if thinking to herself than speaking to me.

“Yes, why, indeed?” I echoed.  “And if he brought it here, and committed a criminal act, why go away and leave it here?”

I think it was at the same moment that the minds of both of us turned to Gregory Hall.  Her eyes fell, and as for me, I was nearly stunned with the thoughts that came rushing to my brain.

If the late newspaper had seemed to point to Hall’s coming out on that late train, how much more so this bag, which had been left on that very train

We were silent for a time, and then, lifting her sweet eyes bravely to mine, Florence said

“I have something to tell you.”

“Yes,” I replied, crushing down the longing to take her in my arms and let her tell it there.

“Mr. Hall had a talk with me this morning.  He says that he and the others have searched everywhere possible for the will, and it cannot be found.  He says Uncle Joseph must have destroyed it, and that it is practically settled that Uncle Philip is the legal heir.  Of course, Mr. Philip Crawford isn’t my uncle, but I have always called him that, and Phil and I have been just like cousins.”

“What else did Mr. Hall say?” I asked, for I divined that the difficult part of her recital was yet to come.

“He said,” she went on, with a rising color, “that he wished me to break our engagement.”

I will do myself the justice to say that although my first uncontrollable thought was one of pure joy at this revelation, yet it was instantly followed by sympathy and consideration for her.