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 she had just received. She grew so dazed that as she got up she swayed against the table, and had to hold on by it to save herself from falling.

The waitress who had written out the bill caught a glimpse of scared eyes set in a face of chalk.

"Aren't you well?" she asked.

"I—I've lost my purse," June stammered. "It's fallen out of my pocket, I think." As with frantic futility she plunged her hand in again, she was raked by the true meaning of such a fact in all its horror. Unless her purse had been stolen on the Underground, and it was not very likely, it had almost certainly fallen out of her pocket in the course of the struggle with Uncle Si.

It was lying now on the shop floor unless the old wretch had found it already. And if he had he would lose no time in examining its contents. He had only to do so for the cloak-room ticket to tell him where the Van Roon was deposited, and to provide him with a sure means of obtaining it.

"You may have had your pocket picked."

June did not think so. Yet, being unable to take the girl into her confidence, she did not choose to disclose her doubts.

"Perhaps I have," she gasped. And then face to face with the extreme peril of the case, her overdriven nerves broke out in mutiny. She burst into tears. "I don't know what I'll do," she sobbed.

The waitress was full of sympathy. "Your bill is only sixpence. Come in and pay to-morrow."

Through her tears June thanked her.

"'Tisn't my bill, although it's very kind of you. There was something very important in my purse."