ward. "You've only got that wrist-bag with you?"
"Yes," said Sonia. "I have my money and my handkerchief in it." And she held it out to him.
Guerchard's keen eyes darted into it; and he muttered, "No point in looking in that. I don't suppose any one would have had the audacity——" and he stopped.
Sonia made a couple of steps toward the door, turned, hesitated, came back to the couch, and picked up her cloak.
There was a sudden gleam in Guerchard's eyes—a gleam of understanding, expectation, and triumph. He stepped forward, and holding out his hands, said: "Allow me."
"No, thank you," said Sonia. "I'm not going to put it on."
"No . . . but it's possible . . . some one may have . . . have you felt in the pockets of it? That one, now? It seems as if that one——"
He pointed to the pocket which had held the packet.
Sonia started back with an air of utter dismay; her eyes glanced wildly round the room as if seeking an avenue of escape; her fingers closed convulsively on the pocket.
