about too.

Criminals, Hilary reflected with immense satisfaction as she picked up
the key, always did forget important things of that sort. Now what did
that little key fit? Evidently some bag or some small box which contained
something that it behoved her to keep carefully concealed from every eye
but her own. Now, where could that bag or box be, Hilary wondered, as she
glanced round the room. Were there any drawers or cupboards that she had
not yet thoroughly searched? Yes, there was the big bottom drawer in the
wardrobe, in which Miss Carson kept her hats. She had looked into it
once, but seeing that it apparently contained nothing but the few simple
hats that the holiday governess owned, had pushed it to again. But now,
feeling that that cursory glance had not been sufficient, Hilary knelt
down before the wardrobe, and putting her hand to the back of the drawer,
pulled out Margaret's morocco dressing-bag. It was the work of a moment
only to fit the key in the lock, and then its contents were at the mercy
of her prying eyes. But beyond the leather-covered case that Margaret had
shown to Eleanor in the train the bag was empty, and Hilary, who had
expected to find it crammed full of jewellery, experienced a sharp pang
of disappointment. But when she opened the case and saw the pearl-studded
locket and the beautiful row of pearls that formed its chain, her face
brightened. The initials "M. A." on the back of the locket, to say
nothing of the fine, copper-plate inscription, "For my daughter
Margaret," that ran round the narrow gold setting of the miniature, were,
of course, conclusive proof that it did not belong to Miss Carson. Hilary
remembered, too, the handkerchief embroidered with those same
incriminating initials which Miss Carson had one day dropped in the
garden. Though it seemed to Hilary an unimportant matter now, she yet
looked upon it as a link in the long chain of circumstantial evidence
which she alone and unaided had forged against Miss Carson. Really, she
thought, she had a right to be proud of herself, for had she not shown
more intelligence and acumen in the detection of the Seabourne burglaries
than every police official in the town. How every one would admire her
skill! Her portraits might possibly appear in the illustrated papers, and
as for the local papers, they would, of course, print long accounts of
the marvellous way in which, working quite alone, she had succeeded in
unravelling the mystery th