Penfield inspected the handkerchief with
interest, and then passed it to the jurors, cautioning them to
handle it carefully.
"I note," he stated, turning again to Detective Ferguson, "that
it is a woman's handkerchief."
"It is," replied Ferguson. "And embroidered in one corner is the
initial 'B.'"
Penfield ran his fingers through his gray hair. "You may go,
Ferguson," he said, and beckoned to the morgue master. "Ask Miss
Barbara McIntyre to return."
The girl was quick in answering the summons. Kent, more and more
worried, was watching the scene with painful attention.
"Did Mr. Turnbull have one of your handkerchiefs?" asked Penfield.
Her surprise at the question was manifest in her manner.
"He might have," she said. "I have a dreadful habit of dropping
my handkerchiefs around."
"Did you miss one after his visit to your house on Monday night?"
"Miss McIntyre," Penfield took up the handkerchief which the
foreman replaced on his desk a moment before, and holding it with
care extended it toward the girl. "Is this your handkerchief?"
She inspected the handkerchief and the initial with curiosity, but
with nothing more, Kent was convinced, and in his relief was
almost guilty of disturbing the decorum of the inquest with a shout
of joy.
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