"I'm going to ask you a lot of questions, Miss Olden," the old Chief said, when we were alone. "Sit here, please. Morris tells me you've got more nerve than any woman that's ever come before me, so I needn't bother to reassure you. You don't look like a girl that's easily frightened. I have heard how you danced in the lobby of the Manhattan, how you guyed him at your flat, and were getting lunch and having a regular picnic of a time when--" "When he found that purse." "Exactly. Now, why did you do all that?" "Why? Because I felt like it. I felt gay and excited and--" "Not dreaming that that purse was sure to be found?" "Not dreaming that there was such a purse in existence except from the detective's say--so, and never fancying for an instant that it would be found in my flat." "Hm!" He looked at me from under his heavy, wrinkled old lids. You don't get nice eyes from looking on the nasty things in this world, Mag. "Why," I cried, "what kind of a girl could cut up like that when she was on the very edge of discovery?" "A very smart girl--an actress; a good one; a clever thief who's used to bluffing. Of course," he added softly, "you won't misunderstand me. I'm simply suggesting the different kinds of girl that could have done what you did. But, if you don't mind, I'll do the questioning. Nance Olden," he turned suddenly on me, his manner changed and threatening, "what has become of that three hundred dollars?" "Mr. Chief, you know just as much about that as I do." I threw up my head and looked him full in the face. It was over now--all the shivering and trembling and fearing. Nance Olden's not a coward when she's fighting for her freedom; and fighting alone without any sympathizing friend to weaken her. He returned the look with interest. "I may know more," he said insinuatingly. "Possibly." I shrugged my shoulders. No, it wasn't put on. There never yet was a man who bullied me that didn't rouse the fighter in me. I swore to myself that this old thief-catcher shouldn't rattle me. "Doesn't it occur to you that under the circumstances a full confession might be the very best thing for you? I shouldn't wonder if these people would be inclined to be lenient with you if you'd return the money. Doesn't it occur--" "It might occur to me if I had anything to confess--about this purse." "How long since you've seen Mrs. Edward Ramsay?" He rushed the question at me. I jumped. "How do you know I've ever seen her?" "I do know you have." "I don't believe you." "Thank you; neither do I believe you, which is more to the point. Come, answer the question: how long is it since you have seen the lady?" I looked at him. And then I looked at my glove, and slowly pulled the fingers inside out, and then--then I giggled. Suddenly it came to me--that silly, little insane dodge of mine in the Bishop's carriage that day; the girl who had lost her name; and the use all that affair might be to me if ever--