The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(276)

                That I did not give way is a proof that my father’s prophecy was not without some reasonable foundation; for the sight was one to try the stoutest nerves, as well as to awaken the compassion of the hardest heart.

                The Coroner, meeting my eye, pointed at the poor creature inquiringly.

                “Is this the woman you saw enter here last night?”

                I glanced down at her dress, noted the short summer cape tied to the neck with an elaborate bow of ribbon, and nodded my head.

                “I remember the cape,” said I. “But where is her hat? She wore one. Let me see if I can describe it.” Closing my eyes I endeavored to recall the dim silhouette of her figure as she stood passing up the change to the driver; and was so far successful that I was ready to announce at the next moment that her hat presented the effect of a soft felt with one feather or one bow of ribbon standing upright from the side of the crown.



                             “Then the identity of this woman with the one you saw enter here last night is established,” remarked the detective, stooping down and drawing from under the poor girl’s body a hat, sufficiently like the one I had just described, to satisfy everybody that it was the same.

                “As if there could be any doubt,” I began.

                But the Coroner, explaining that it was a mere formality, motioned me to stand aside in favor of the doctor, who seemed anxious to approach nearer the spot where the dead woman lay. This I was about to do when a sudden thought struck me, and I reached out my hand for the hat.

                “Let me look at it for a moment,” said I.

                Mr. Gryce at once handed it over, and I took a good look at it inside and out.

                “It is pretty badly crushed,” I observed, “and does not present a very fresh appearance, but for all that it has been worn but once.”

                “How do you know?” questioned the Coroner.

                “Let the other Richmond inform you,” was my grimly uttered reply, as I gave it again into the detective’s hand.

                There was a murmur about me, whether of amusement or displeasure, I made no effort to decide. I was finding out something for myself, and I did not care what they thought of me.

                “Neither has she worn this dress long,” I continued; “but that is not true of the shoes. They are not old, but they have been acquainted with the pavement, and that is more than can be said of the hem of this gown. There are no gloves on her hands; a few minutes elapsed then before the assault; long enough for her to take them off.”

                “Smart woman!” whispered a voice in my ear; a half-admiring, half-sarcastic voice that I had no difficulty in ascribing to Mr. Gryce. “But are you sure she wore any? Did you notice that her hand was gloved when she came into the house?”

                “No,” I answered, frankly; “but so well-dressed a woman would not enter a house like this, without gloves.”

                “It was a warm night,” someone suggested.



                             “I don’t care. You will find her gloves as you have her hat; and you will find them with the fingers turned inside out, just as she drew them from her hand. So much I will concede to the warmth of the weather.”

                “Like these, for instance,” broke in a quiet voice.