"That'll only make you ill." Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly,
for she was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a bite
out of the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.

"I expect you're right," he said. "And I've a goodish heavy day
in front of me. Been up since four, too--"

"Four?" she said. "Was it then they found--" she hesitated a
moment, and then said, "it?"

He nodded. "It was just a chance I was near by. If I'd been half
a minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have
knocked up against that--that monster. But two or three people
do think they saw him slinking away."

"What was he like?" she asked curiously.

"Well, that's hard to answer. You see, there was such an awful
fog. But there's one thing they all agree about. He was carrying
a bag--"

"A bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice. "Whatever sort of
bag might it have been, Joe?"

There had come across her--just right in her middle, like--such a
strange sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.

She was at a loss to account for it.

"Just a hand-bag," said Joe Chandler vaguely. "A woman I spoke to