VII

A POLICE MYSTERY

It was a blow to Nick to be told that there was little hope of finding the lost bag.  He had pledged himself to “see the thing through,” but he had reasons—­immensely important reasons they seemed to him—­for wishing to leave New Orleans next day.

So far as was known, Cohensohn was an honest man.  There was nothing against him, and his shop could not be searched by the police.  All they could do was to get a description of the people who had called between the times of Mrs. May’s going out and coming in.  But ten chances to one, like most women, she had mislaid her bag somewhere else, or left it at home.

Nick did not like these insinuations against the sex to which an angel deigned to belong; but he took them quietly, and instructed the police to offer five-hundred dollars reward for the bag alone, or a thousand with the contents intact.  Then he went back and had lunch with Mrs. May, which was, without exception, the most exquisite experience of his life.  Yet he did not know what he ate, or afterward, whether he had eaten anything at all—­unless it was some bread which, with bitter disgust at his bad manners, he vaguely remembered crumbling on the table.

He was cheered, however, by a plan he had, and by the inscription on Angela’s miniature frame.  He would have hated the thing if it had been her husband’s.

Evening came and there was no news of the missing bag.  There were not even any satisfactory clues.

When Nick heard this he thought very hard for a few minutes, and then inquired at what time the shops closed.  He was told; and consulting his watch, realized that they would shut in less than an hour.

“What’s the name of the best jewellery store in this town?” he wanted to know.

There were several which ranked about the same, and scribbling three or four names on his shirt-cuff, he rushed off to find the first.

“Got any gold handbags?” he asked in a low voice, as if he had something to conceal.  “Kind made of chain, with diamonds and sapphires along the top.”

He was shown the stock; saw nothing apparently which struck his fancy, and was off like a shot in search of the next name on his list.

At this place lived a bag which, so far as he could remember, seemed the duplicate of Mrs. May’s except that the stones alternating with the diamonds were emeralds instead of sapphires.

“Just keep that thing for twenty minutes,” said he.  “I’ll come back to tell you whether I’ll take it or not, and what I want done to it, if I do.”

“Another gentleman was in to-day looking at that bag,” said the attendant.  “If he comes before you, I must let him have it.”

“What price did you make for him?” asked Nick.

“Seven hundred and seventy-five dollars,” was the reply.

“Well, will you do a little gamble?  Keep it till I come in, and if I take it I’ll pay eight hundred.  If I don’t, you can have twenty-five dollars interest on your time.”