you have told me; but can you prove what you say?"
"Luckily I can, unless the things are stolen."
"What things?"
"The umbrella, the lantern and the empty box, which I left on the bench in the broad Bayswater path. I was sitting there when the man robbed me."
"What was the man who robbed you like?"
"I can't say. It was foggy and he only remained for a single moment."
"And what was the man who gave you the box like?"
"I can only make you the same answer," said Patricia. "Both incidents happened so swiftly that I had no time to observe anything. But if you will send to the Park you will perhaps find the articles I left on the bench."
The inspector nodded, and rising from his chair, went out of the room. Mrs. Sellars caught the girl's hand when they were alone.
"What does it all mean, my dear?" she asked helplessly.
"I can't say," replied Patricia, shaking her head. "You know all that I know, and must form your own opinion."
"What is yours?"
"I have none. I am quite bewildered."
At this moment Inspector Harkness re-entered the room and returned to his seat. "I have sent to the Broad Walk in Hyde Park," he said bluffly; "so if your story is true, the articles will be found."
"My story is true," said Patricia, flushing with anger. "But while I was away someone may have sat on the bench and----"
"And have taken the articles," finished the officer dryly. "Well, yes; but I hope for your sake that your tale--a very strange one--will be substantiated by these proofs."
"Do you believe that I am telling you a falsehood?" asked Patricia in her most indignant manner.
"I believe nothing and I say nothing until these articles are found."
"And if they are not?"
The inspector hesitated, looked awkward, and did not reply.
Patricia stood up, trying to control her nerves, but quivering from head to foot. "Perhaps you accuse me of murdering Mrs. Pentreddle before I went out?"
"No, dear, no," cried Mrs. Sellars, catching her hand kindly. "The doctor says that poor Martha was murdered about ten o'clock, and as you can prove that you were absent by means of those policemen and the cabman, no one can accuse you of the crime. And I know," said Mrs. Sellars, bursting into tears, "that you wouldn't hurt a fly, much less Martha, who liked you in her disagreeable way."
"I am not accusing Miss Carrol, I beg to say," remarked the inspector, as soon as he secured a moment to speak; "but the whole tale is so strange that Miss Carrol cannot blame me if I desire proofs. Naturally a high-spirited young lady doesn't like to be questioned in this way, but----"
"I don't mind being questioned," interrupted Patricia, her hot Irish blood aflame. "But it is being doubted that I object to."
"Natural enough; natural enough," said Harkness soothingly; "but one cannot bring personal feelings into legal matters. I have daughters myself of your age, Miss Carrol, and I have every sympathy with your position. As a man and a father, I fully believe every word you say; but as an officer, I am obliged to disbelieve until I have proofs. If I do not demand them, the jury and the coroner will."
"When? Where?" asked Patricia, startled.
"At the inquest. You will be the most important witness, Miss Carrol."
"But I don't know who committed the crime."
"No, nor does anyone else. But you can tell the coroner and the jury what you have told me, and I hope that the articles you left on the bench will be forthcoming to prove the truth of your extraordinary story. Come, Miss Carrol, you must see that I am trying to make things as pleasant as possible for you, consistent with my official responsibility."
"Yes," said Patricia, and sat down again, for, after all, she could not deny but what her story sounded very incredible. And as yet she had not told the most incredible portion, as that had to do with her own peculiar sixth sense, which she was very certain neither the inspector nor Mrs. Sellars possessed. And as they had not got it, how useless it would be, as she fully recognized, to relate the sensations caused by the stolen jewel. Her tale was improbable enough, so there was no need to make it still more so.
"Can you describe what was stolen?" Harkness asked her.
Patricia did so, and the explanation was received with exclamations of surprise by Mrs. Sellars and with a somewhat sceptical air by the inspector. Patricia saw his doubts and grew annoyed again. "What is the use of my telling you things when you won't believe me?"
Before Harkness could answer this very natural question, a young constable entered and placed on the table the articles which had been left on the bench in the foggy Park. Miss Carrol spread out her hands triumphantly.
"Yes," said the inspector, interpreting the gesture. "I believe your story now, young lady. Here are the proofs."
"Ah, yes," groaned Mrs. Sellars, rocking. "But where is the jewel?"
CHAPTER IV
THE INQUEST
Destiny works in a most mysterious way, and frequently the evil which she brings on individuals becomes the parent of good. During the three years which had passed since the death of her father, Patricia had faced much trouble for a girl of twenty-two. She had no money, and had possessed no friends until she met with Mrs. Sellars, so her career had been a painful one of toil and penury and heart-felt despair. This last misfortune which connected her with the commission of a crime seemed to be the greatest blow which had befallen her, and she truly believed that she was now entirely ruined. For who, as she argued, would engage as a governess a girl who was mixed up in so shady a business? Even if she could prove her innocence--and she had no doubt on that score--the mere fact of her errand to the Park was so fantastic in the explanation, that many people would believe she had invented it in order to shield herself from arrest. In nine cases out of ten this might have happened; but Destiny ordained that Patricia's case should be the tenth. Through the darkness of the clouds which environed her the sun of prosperity broke unexpectedly.
Of course, next day the newspapers contained details of the murder at The Home of Art, and the mystery fascinated the public. Crook Street was never so full since it had been a thoroughfare. Motor-cars, hansom cabs, four-wheelers, taxicabs, carts, bicycles, and conveyances of every description, came to the curved cul de sac. Also, sight-seers on foot came to survey the house, and Number III appeared in the daily illustrated papers. When the reporters became more fully acquainted with what had taken place, the portrait of Patricia appeared also, together with an account of how the murdered woman had induced her to leave the house. It was generally considered, notwithstanding that the errand had been proved to be a genuine one, that Mrs. Pentreddle had sent the girl away in order that she might see the mysterious person who had murdered her. If this was not so, argued everybody, how came it that the man--people were certain that the criminal was a man--had gained admission into the house? An examination of the snicks to the windows had proved that
