asperity, "how did it get on Mr. Crawford's desk late last night?
The butler has assured me it was not there when he looked in at a
little after ten o'clock. Yet this morning it lay there, in
plain sight on the desk. Whose bag is it?"

"I have not the slightest idea," said Miss Lloyd firmly; "but, I
repeat, it is not mine."

"Easy enough to see the trend of Monroe's questions," said
Parmalee in my ear. "If he can prove this bag to be Miss
Lloyd's, it shows that she was in the office after ten o'clock
last night, and this she has denied."

"Don't you believe her?" said I.

"Indeed I don't. Of course she was there, and of course it's her
bag. She put that pretty maid of hers up to deny it, but any one
could see the maid was lying, also."

"Oh, come now, Parmalee, that's too bad! You've no right to say
such things!"

"Oh, pshaw! you think the same yourself, only you think it isn't
chivalrous to put it into words."

Of course what annoyed me in Parmalee's speech was its inherent
truth. I didn't believe Florence Lloyd. Much as I wanted to, I
couldn't; for the appearance, manner and words of both women were
not such as to inspire belief in their hearers.