“But wait a minute,” Parmalee began, when Mr Hamilton interrupted him--“Mr. Porter is quite right,” he said; “there is no reason why Miss Lloyd should be further troubled in this matter. I feel free to advise her dismissal from the witness stand, because of my acquaintance and friendship with this household. Our coroner and most of our jurors are strangers to Miss Lloyd, and perhaps cannot appreciate as I do the terrible strain this experience means to her.” “You're right Hamilton,” said Mr. Philip Crawford; “I was remiss not to think of it myself. Mr. Monroe, this is not a formal inquest, and in the interest of kindness and humanity, I ask you to excuse Miss Lloyd from further questioning for the present.” I was surprised at the requests of these elderly gentlemen, for though it seemed to me that Miss Lloyd's testimony was complete, yet it also seemed as if Gregory Hall were the one to show anxiety that she be spared further annoyance. However, Florence Lloyd spoke for herself. “I am quite willing to answer any further questions,” she said; “I have answered all you have asked, and I have told you frankly the truth. Though it is far from pleasant to have my individual affairs thus brought to notice, I am quite ready to do anything to forward the cause of justice or to aid in any way the discovery of my uncle's murderer.” “Thank you,” said Mr. Monroe; “I quite appreciate the extreme unpleasantness of your position. But, Miss Lloyd, there are a few more questions I must ask you. Pardon me if I repeat myself, but I ask you once more if you did not come down to your uncle's office last evening after he had returned from his call on Mr. Randolph.” As I watched Florence Lloyd I saw that her eyes did not turn toward the coroner, or toward her fiance, or toward the jury, but she looked straight at Louis, the valet, as she replied in clear tones, “I did not.” VI. THE GOLD BAG “Is this yours?” asked Mr. Monroe, suddenly whisking into sight the gold-mesh bag. Probably his intent had been to startle her, and thus catch her off her guard. If so, he succeeded, for the girl was certainly startled, if only at the suddenness of the query. “N-no,” she stammered; “it's--it's not mine.” “Are you sure?” the coroner went on, a little more gently, doubtless moved by her agitation. “I'm--I'm quite sure. Where did you find it?” “What size gloves do you wear, Miss Lloyd?” “Number six.” She said this mechanically, as if thinking of something else, and her face was white. “These are number six,” said the coroner, as he took a pair of gloves from the bag. “Think again, Miss Lloyd. Do you not own a gold-chain bag, such as this?” “I have one something like that--or, rather, I did have one.” “Ah! And what did you do with it?” “I gave it to my maid, Elsa, some days ago.” “Why did you do that?” “Because I was tired of it, and as it was a trifle worn, I had ceased to care to carry it.”