Gimblet opened it for her gladly; but she came to a standstill in
the doorway.

"There is nothing there, you see;" she said dolefully. "Oh, what
shall I do!"

Gimblet looked over her shoulder. The hall was shadowy, with the
perpetual twilight of the halls of London flats, but he fancied he
could perceive a darker shadow lying beside his hat on the table near
the entrance.

"Is that it? On the table?" he asked.

"Where? I don't see anything," murmured the lady; and indeed it was
unlikely that she could distinguish anything in such a light from
behind her veil.

"On the table by my hat," repeated Gimblet; and as she still did not
move, he made a step forward into the hall.

Yes, it was her bag, beyond a doubt. A silken thing of black brocade,
embroidered with scattered purple pansies.

Gimblet picked it up and turned back to his visitor. After a second's
hesitation she had followed him into the hall and was coming towards him,
groping her way rather blindly through the gloom.

"Oh, thanks, thanks!" she exclaimed. "How stupid of me to have left it
there. Thank you again. My precious bag! I am so glad you have found it."
She took the bag eagerly from him. "I am afraid I have been a nuisance,