andwriting in the
words under her name: Send without opening. She had not misjudged him.

"The cover you may like to take off yourself," suggested the officer, as
he lifted the box out of its wrapper.

"Oh, I don't mind. There's nothing to be ashamed of in embroidered
linen. Or perhaps that is not what you are looking for?"

No one answered. All were busy watching her whip off the lid and lift
out the pile of sheets and pillow-cases with which the box was closely
packed.

"Shall I unfold them?" she asked.

The detective nodded.

Taking out the topmost sheet, she shook it open. Then the next and the
next till she reached the bottom of the box. Nothing of a criminating
nature came to light. The box as well as its contents was without
mystery of any kind. This was not an unexpected result of course, but
the smile with which she began to refold the pieces and throw them back
into the box, revealed one of her dimples which was almost as dangerous
to the casual observer as when it revealed both.

"There," she exclaimed, "you see! Household linen exactly as I said. Now
may I go home?"

"Certainly, Miss Strange."

The detective stole a sly glance at the reporter. She was not going in
for the horrors then after all.

But the reporter abated nothing of his knowing air, for while she spoke
of going, she made no move towards doing so, but continued to look
about the room till her glances finally settled on a long dark curtain
shutting off an adjoining room.

"There's where she lies, I suppose," she feelingly exclaimed. "And not
one of you knows who killed her. Somehow, I cannot understand that. Why
don't you know when that's what you're hired for?" The innocence with
which she uttered this was astonishing. The detective began to look
sheepish and the reporter turned aside to hide his smile. Whether in
another moment either would have spoken no one can say, for, with a
mock consciousness of having said something foolish, she caught up her
parasol from the table and made a start for the door.

But of course she looked back.

"I was wondering," she recommenced, with a half wistful, half
speculative air, "whether I should ask to have a peep at the place where
it all happened."

The reporter chuckled behind the pencil-end he was chewing, but the
officer maintained his solemn air, for which act of self-restraint
he was undoubtedly grateful when in another minute she gave a quick
impulsive shudder not altogether assumed