WHITEWASH
lect her scattered memory. "Mr. Pendle, 12Oa Broadway—Pendle & Brown. They are my aunt's attorneys."
"Your name?" demanded the officer.
"Philippa Clensdale Ford, of Madison Avenue."
"Very well. Now we will see what we have here."
The two hand-bags and the iron despatch-box were laid on the table, and after a few attempts the lock of the latter was forced, and the lid thrown back, revealing a layer of white cotton.
"Inventory," ordered the captain.
The sergeant prepared to note the contents. There was a moment's tense silence as the concealing batting was removed, revealing a number of tiny packages wrapped in tissue-paper. The clumsy, hairy fingers of the officer unfolded one picked up at random. There was a glitter, a sparkle, and a flash as the contents lay bare to the light—ten or more diamonds of various sizes.
A gasp from Philippa was the only sound that greeted the find.
