t Lant Street teaches you is, the proper handling of quality goods. I got hold of the gowns—they were all as odd and short and girlish as each other—and shook them out, then laid them nicely back on their shelf. Then I wedged a shoe against the crinoline to hold it flat; after that, the doors closed as they were meant to. This press was in one alcove. In another was a
dressing-table. That was strewn about with brushes and bottles
and pinst—I tidied those, too—and fitted beneath with a set of fancy
drawers. I opened them up. They held—well, here was a thing. Thev all held gloves. More gloves than a milliner''s. White ones, in the top drawer; black silk ones in the middle; and buff mittens in
the lowest.
They were each of them marked on the inside at the wrist with a crimson thread that I guessed spelled out Maud''s name. I should have liked to have a go at that, with scissors and a pin.
I did no such thing, of course, but left the gloves all lying neatly, and I went about the room again until I had touched and studied it all There was not much more to look at; but there was one more curious thing, and that was a little wooden box, inlaid with ivory, that sat upon a table beside her bed.
The box was locked, and when I took it up it gave a dull sort of rattle. There was no key handy: I guessed she kept it somewhere about her, perhaps on a string. The lock was a simple one, however, and with locks like that, you only have to show them the wire and they open themselves, it''s like giving brine to an oyster. I used one of her hairpins.