This seemed to promise light at last. Somehow I couldn't doubt her assertion that it was not her bag, and yet the thought suddenly occurred to me if she were clever enough to be implicated in the Crawford tragedy, and if she had left her bag there, she would be expecting this inquiry, and would probably be clever enough to have a story prepared. “Mrs. Purvis, since you say it is not your bag, I'm going to ask you, in the interests of justice, to help me all you can.” “I'm quite willing to do so, sir. What is it you wish to know?” “A crime has been committed in a small town in New Jersey. A gold-link bag was afterward discovered at the scene of the crime, and though none of its other contents betokened its owner, a visiting card with your name on it was in the bag.” Becoming interested in the story, Mrs. Purvis seemed to get over her fright, and was exceedingly sensible for a woman. “It certainly is not my bag, Mr. Burroughs, and if my card is in it, I can only say that I must have given that card to the lady who owns the bag.” This seemed distinctly plausible, and also promised further information. “Do you remember giving your card to any lady with such a bag?” Mrs. Purvis smiled. “So many of your American women carry those bags,” she said; “they seem to be almost universal this year. I have probably given my card to a score of ladies, who immediately put it into just such a bag.” “Could you tell me who they are?” “No, indeed;” and Mrs. Purvis almost laughed outright, at what was doubtless a foolish question. “But can't you help me in any way?” I pleaded. “I don't really see how I can,” she replied. “You see I have so many friends in New York, and they make little parties for me, or afternoon teas. Then I meet a great many American ladies, and we often exchange cards. But we do it so often that of course I can't remember every particular instance. Have you the card you speak of?” I thanked my stars that I had been thoughtful enough to obtain the card before leaving West Sedgwick, and taking it from my pocket-book, I gave it to her. “Oh, that one!” she said; “perhaps I can help you a little, Mr. Burroughs. That is an old-fashioned card, one of a few left over from an old lot. I have been using them only lately, because my others gave out. I have really gone much more into society in New York than I had anticipated, and my cards seemed fairly to melt away. I ordered some new ones here, but before they were sent to me I was obliged to use a few of these old-fashioned ones. I don't know that this would help you, but I think I can tell pretty nearly to whom I gave those cards.” It seemed a precarious sort of a chance, but as I talked with Mrs. Purvis, I felt more and more positive that she herself was not implicated in the Crawford case. However, it was just as well to make certain. She had gone to her writing-desk, and seemed to be looking over a diary or engagement book.