As these two reached the divan each looked long and earnestly at the dead woman.
They saw a sweet young face, pretty and natural. The contusion did not show, as the doctors had turned the head on that side.
The eyes were closed, and the cheeks showed a slight tinge of rouge. The lips were not made up at all, and were already pale.
The costume was exquisite. The finest type of Oriental magnificence, with full silk trousers, a voluminous tunic, dainty bodice and jacket, all of rich, soft silk, in gorgeous coloring and ornamented with glittering sequins and mock jewels.
On her hands beside a wedding ring, were several gaudy paste gems, quite evidently part of the costume. All of her head-gear had been removed and her hair, though disordered somewhat, was soft and plentiful.
On her feet were jeweled and embroidered Turkish slippers and fine silk stockings.
“How lovely!” was Kate’s involuntary exclamation. “But, who is she?”
“I’ve not the faintest idea,” Post said; “I’ve never seen her before, I’m sure of that. And I don’t believe Tommy ever did, either—she isn’t our sort, Kate. As to Tommy’s skipping—nonsense—he’s taken Pearl Jane home—that’s where he’s gone.”
And no one on the line of spectators knew the unfortunate woman.
Hutchins was shrewd and he watched eagerly to find some one who seemed to dissemble, or who seemed ill at ease beyond the natural horror of the occasion. But he found none such, and after the ordeal was over, he was convinced, that so far he had neither any clue to the identity of the criminal nor the victim.
