I stood on the platform, calling on my cellphone, busily canceling the credit cards that we had in common. It turns out this was a good thing, because -- as Smac intuited -- Gretchen hadn't dropped the wallet. It had been snatched out of the open purse as she came up the escalator. Her bank debit card (which I don't share) had been used for a charge of $2.16 that night at a Jewel supermarket.
Gretchen would feel less ironic about this if I hadn't advised Smac to put his wallet in his front pocket, since I remembered having been pickpocketed back in 1989 on the way home from Comiskey Park where we'd gone for my bachelor party.
At least this seems to be the only damage, other than the inconvenience.