“Yes. And wrapped up in them was the Totem Pole that vanished that same night.” Mrs. Merivale’s hand shot out and clasped the girl’s trembling fingers. “It is a plant!” she said, “a deep-laid plot to incriminate this innocent child!” CHAPTER VIII ALMA’S STATEMENTS “That is a possible explanation,” Hart conceded. “But who would do such a thing? Who would hide those ridiculous properties in that strange place, and why?” “No, it is not a plant,” Alma Remsen said, speaking slowly and seeming to choose her words carefully. “I left the waistcoats in the boathouse myself, when I carried them home day before yesterday.” “Why did you take them home?” Hart spoke gravely but not unkindly. “My uncle gave them to me.” “Gave them to you! What for?” “I am making a patchwork quilt, and he told me these two waistcoats were worn and I could have them to cut up for patches. As they were of fine quality silk, I was glad to get them.” I looked at the girl in admiration. She was quite composed, even smiling a little, and she favoured Hart with a glance of confidence, as if sure he would believe her. “And the Totem Pole?” “Uncle gave me that, too. He possessed several, and he often gave me little presents like that.” She was quite at ease now, and her eyelids were as steady as the rest of her face and demeanour. “You were here Tuesday afternoon, then?” “Yes, between three and four.” “You saw your uncle?” “Yes, of course.” Something about her manner was disconcerting. At least, it bothered the already harassed Coroner. I was watching Alma Remsen closely, and it seemed to me she purposely tried to put the Coroner in wrong. There was no overt act or word, but her little glance of surprise or her glimmer of a smile made him seem blundering and inept, and I decided she had such intentions. This did not lower her in my estimation; indeed, I was fast reaching a point where nothing could disparage her to me. It was not alone her beauty, though she looked fair and sweet to-day, but I was bowled over by her air of courage and determination. That she had something to conceal, I was positive. I knew she had been at Pleasure Dome the night of her uncle’s death, I knew she denied it. Fatuously I told myself she had her own good reasons for telling a falsehood, and I preferred to believe she was shielding another rather than herself. Hart was proceeding. “Were you alone with him?” Alma’s pretty brows contracted in her effort to recollect. “Most of the time,” she said, with the air of humouring an over-inquisitive child. “Mr. Everett was in and out of the room, and Mr. Dean, too, I think.” “Where were you?” “In my uncle’s sitting room in his own suite.” “And then he gave you the silk waistcoats?” “Yes.” “Which are, you say, worn?” “Y-yes.” There was a slight hesitation this time. “But Griscom has stated they were nearly new. Why should he give them to you?”