The clothes were temporarily laid aside at this point and the contents of the leather satchel were over-hauled. Mrs. Conklin at once identified it by several marks, as one the physician had carried for several years. From its recesses the doctor's prescription book was first produced, then his call book, and then a street guide that Mrs. Conklin had purchased over two years before. After this came still another book with a list of drugs and medicines, and explanations of their uses. All the pages were badly soiled. A tiny knife was fished out from the bottom of the satchel. It was a pretty toy, one which Dr. Cronin had received as a present from a little girl. Tears started to Mrs. Conklin's eyes. "Let me have that," she said, and she reached for the knife. It was silently passed over. A tiny thermometer, such as surgeons carry to test the temperature of patients was now brought out, and then in rapid succession a roll of plasters, a small pocket instrument case, a handkerchief, a double stethescope, a lot of minor surgical instruments, including a keen bladed scalpel and a box of hypodermic syringes. This latter attracted considerable attention, on account of its beauty. It had been a present from W. M. Bagnall, one of the most intimate friends of the physician, and on it he had placed this inscription: PRESENTED BY WILLIAM M. BAGNALL TO DR. P. HARRY CRONIN. [Illustration: BAGNALL'S PRESENT TO THE DOCTOR.] All of this, however, except the last line, had been erased. There were two letters and a postal card in the satchel, each bearing the down-town address of the physician, together with a comb and a piece of paper, so saturated with blood that it was difficult to tell whether or not it had contained writing. The wooden box contained several silver extension splints, which are used in case of fractured limbs. The other valise, the cover of which had been eaten away, was apparently about eighteen inches long, quite large enough to have contained a bundle of clothes. When found by Reese, the overcoat and trousers were clinging to the ribs of it, which was taken as evidence that it had contained the whole bundle when it was dumped into the sewer. Salesman Hatfield, when sent for, said unhesitatingly that he had no doubt but that the valise was the one he had sold to the man Simonds, and which had been taken from the Clark street flat to the Carlson cottage. The hat was also recognized by the tradesman of whom the physician had been a regular customer. [Illustration: REMAINS OF THE MURDERERS' VALISE]