"Don't you know your own name?" demanded the lady, sharply.

"Yes, but I don't think you do."

"Can you answer the boy's question, Mrs. Simpson?"

"Of course I can. His name is John Cavanaugh, and the very suit he
has on I gave him."

Grant was thunderstruck at the lady's brazen front. She was
outwardly a fine lady, but he began to suspect that she was an
impostor.

"I am getting tired of this," said the so-called Mrs. Simpson,
impatiently. "Will you, or will you not, restore my pearls?" "When
we are satisfied that they belong to you, madam," said the elder
salesman, coolly. "I don't feel like taking the responsibility, but
will send for my employer, and leave the matter to him to decide."

"I hope I won't have long to wait, sir."

"I will send at once."

"It's a pretty state of things when a lady has her own property kept
from her," said Mrs. Simpson, while the elder clerk was at the other
end of the store, giving some instructions to a boy.

"I don't in the least doubt your claim to the articles, Mrs.
Simpson," said the first salesman, obsequiously. "Come, boy, you'd
better own up that you have stolen the articles, and the lady will