“THAT IS A POSSIBLE explanation,” Hart conceded. “But who would do such a thing? Who would hide those ridiculous properties in that strange place, and why?”
“No, it is not a plant,” Alma Remsen said, speaking slowly and seeming to choose her words carefully. “I left the waistcoats in the boathouse myself, when I carried them home day before yesterday.”
“Why did you take them home?” Hart spoke gravely but not unkindly.
“My uncle gave them to me.”
“Gave them to you! What for?”
“I am making a patchwork quilt, and he told me these two waistcoats were worn and I could have them to cut up for patches. As they were of fine quality silk, I was glad to get them.”
I looked at the girl in admiration. She was quite composed, even smiling a little, and she favoured Hart with a glance of confidenc
