As she spoke, she drew out her hatpins, still laughing in a half
scornful, half good-natured way. She was bewitching as she stood
smiling, with her black hat and veil in her hand, the ruffled waves of
her dark red hair shadowing her forehead.

Meanwhile, fired by her example, I turned out the contents of my
pockets: a letter or two; a flat gold cigarette case; a match box; my
watch, and a handkerchief: also in an outer pocket of my coat, a small
bit of crumpled paper of which I had no recollection: but as one of the
gendarmes politely picked it up from the floor, where it had fallen, and
handed it to me without examining it, mechanically I slipped it back
into the pocket, and thought no more of it at the time. There were too
many other things to think of, and I was wondering what on earth Maxine
could have done with the letter-case. She had had no more than two
seconds in which to dispose of it, hardly enough, it seemed to me, to
pass it from one hand to another, yet apparently it was well hidden.

"Now, are you satisfied?" she asked, "Now that we have both shown you we
have nothing to conceal; or would you like to take me to the police
station, and have some dreadful female search me more thoroughly still?
I'll go with you, if you wish. I won't even he indiscreet enough to ask
questions, since you seem inclined to do what we've no need to do--keep
your own secrets. All I stipulate is, that if you care to take such
measures you'll take them at once, for as you may possibly be aware,
this is the first night of my new play, and I should be sorry to be
late."

The Commissary of Police looked fixedly at Maxine for a moment, as if he
would read her soul.