She turned quickly back to the chair she had been sitting in, and taking up the cushion, shook it and peered beneath it.
"What can I have done with it? All my money is in it."
Gimblet glanced round the room. He did not remember having noticed any bag, and he was an observant person. She had probably left it in a cab. Women were always doing these things. Witness the heaped shelves at Scotland Yard.
"Perhaps you put it down in the hall?" he suggested.
"I am sure I had it when I came in here," she repeated in an agitated voice. "But it might be worth while just to look in the hall," she added doubtfully, and moved towards the door.
Gimblet opened it for her gladly; but she came to a standstill in the doorway.
"There is nothing there, you see;" she said dolefully. "Oh, what shall I do!"
Gimblet looked over her shoulder. The hall was shadowy, with the perpetual twilight of the halls of London flats, but he fancied he could perceive a darker shadow lying beside his hat on the table near the entrance.
"Is that it? On the table?" he asked.
"Where? I don't see anything," murmured the lady; and indeed it was unlikely that she could distinguish anything in such a light from behind her veil.
"On the table by my hat," repeated Gimblet; and as she still did not move, he made a step forward into the hall.
Yes, it was her bag, beyond a doubt. A silken thing of black brocade, embroidered with scattered purple pansies.
Gimblet picked it up and turned back to his visitor. After a second's hesitation she had followed him into the hall and was coming towards him, groping her way rather blindly through the gloom.
"Oh, thanks, thanks!" she exclaimed. "How stupid of me to have left it there. Thank you again. My precious bag! I am so glad you have found it." She took the bag eagerly from him. "I am afraid I have been a nuisance, and disturbed you to no purpose. You must forgive my mistake. But now I will not keep you any longer. Good-bye."
She showed no further disposition to loiter; and Gimblet rang the bell for the lift and saw her depart with a good deal of satisfaction.
In spite of her extremely hazy ideas on the subject of other people's property, there was, he admitted, something attractive about her. Still he was very glad she had gone.