Chapter II: Part 2

"It is beautiful--very beautiful," said the journalist, her eyes fastened on it with an uncontrollable fascination.

Mrs. Cheever, her lips parted, her black eyes wide with eagerness, leaned over. She put out her fingers and let them rest caressingly on the ruby, withdrawing them as though the contact had burned them, while on either cheek little spots of red excitement showed.

"It must be very valuable," she said, her breath catching slightly.

Garraboy, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring.

"Yes, it is valuable--very much so," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing down. Then she went to the door that led into the studio, and clapped her hands:

"Attention, everybody! Beecher and Garraboy are the chefs. Each one must choose his scullery-maid. Mr. Majendie is to make the punch. Everyone else is butler and waitress. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?"

"Good heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, delicately recoiling.

"Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All you have to do is to carry dishes or make the toast--on to the kitchen!"

"Miss Charters, you are engaged at any salary you may name," said Beecher, forestalling Garraboy, who was coming forward.

"But I shall drop every dish," said Nan Charters, rising from the piano. "I don't know anything about cooking."

"Splendid! Then you'll make no mistakes."

He installed her at one end of the table, and went off for the chafing-dish. When he returned, gingerly balancing it on a silver platter, Garraboy, profiting by his absence, was seated beside Nan Charters, speaking in a purposely low voice. She was listening, perfectly composed, looking straight before her with a tolerant, uninterested smile.

If women often can conceal their true natures from women, men seldom deceive one another. There was a fixity in Garraboy's glance which Beecher understood and hotly resented. But at the moment when, setting the tray on the table, he was meditating some ill-advised remark, Mrs. Cheever, passing by, said with ill-concealed impatience in her thin, hurried voice:

"Mr. Garraboy, I am sorry for you, but I have been assigned as your assistant, and I should like to know what I am to do."

Garraboy rose immediately, bowed with perfect suavity, and rejoined Mrs. Cheever, who said to him something that the others did not hear, but at which they saw him shrug his shoulders.

"Well, what are we going to make?" said Nan Charters, with the enjoyment that this exhibition of feminine jealousy had brought still in her eyes.

"I don't like Garraboy," said Beecher directly.

"Why not?" she said, smiling a little, and raising her eyebrows as though interrogating a child.

"Because I like you," he answered abruptly.

Accustomed to contend with men, she was surprised by the genuineness of his remark, which was inspired by a sentiment deeper than jealousy. She looked at him again with that sudden second estimate which is vital.

"He is not difficult to handle," she said carelessly, unaware of the touch of intimacy which her reply permitted.

"I don't like him," he said obstinately, "and I don't like his crowd--the crowd that is here to-night. They're like a pack of wolves. What the deuce does Rita see in them?"

"Mrs. Kildair has generally, I should say, a very good reason for whom she invites," she said carelessly.

"But these Cheevers--they're impossible. How the deuce do they live?"

"I thought Mr. Majendie very charming."

"Oh, Majendie--yes, I except him," he said enthusiastically. "He's a gentleman."

"That counts a good deal with you?" she said, with a touch of raillery.

"It does. I think a gentleman is almost the rarest thing you meet with today," he said, holding his ground, "a gentleman in the heart. I know only four or five."

"Yes, you are right," she said, changing her tone. She looked at him a third time, at the honest, boyish loyalty so plainly written on his face, and said: "You haven't gone out much here?"

"No; I'm just back from knocking around the world, hunting in Africa and all that sort of uselessness."

"Come and tell me about it sometime.

"May I?"

She laughed at his impetuousness, and pointed to the contents of the chafing-dish, which had been simmering neglected; but more than once during the operation her glance returned to the eager, earnest face.

Meanwhile, Garraboy, at the other end of the table, assisted by Mrs. Cheever and Maud Lille, was busy with a lobster a la Newburg. Mrs. Kildair, having finished in the kitchen, had entered the dining-room, where she established a sort of provisional serving-table. She called to her side Cheever and Bloodgood, and, under the pretext of arranging the dishes from the china-closet, kept them isolated. At this moment Elise Bloodgood approached Majendie, who, at the rear end of the studio, was occupied with the brewing of a punch. Natural as was the movement, it was instantly perceived by the four or five persons vitally interested. A moment afterward Mrs. Bloodgood passed into the bedroom; but there was in her carriage a triumph that she did not care to conceal.

"He's won out," thought Bloodgood.

"The shorts will be caught," thought Cheever. "The devil! I must cover."

"Has he lied to her?" said Mrs. Kildair to herself. "If everything is all right, why should he conceal it from any one?"

She went across the room, stopping at the punch-table.

"Have you everything you need?" she asked.

"Everything, thank you," Majendie answered gently; but there was in his voice a tired note, as if some effort had suddenly exhausted him.

"I understood what you meant," she said, looking at him not without a little pity--an emotion which was rare with her. "Let me congratulate you on the result of this afternoon."

"Thank you very much for your congratulations," he said quietly, taking her hand. "If you knew, you will understand why I was kept so late."

As he bowed, the front of his jacket opening a little, she saw or fancied she saw in the inner pocket a strip of green, slightly protruding. She left him, still unconvinced, and turned to the company.

"Everything ready, Teddy? All right. Every one sit down. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood are appointed butlers--because real work will do them good. Sit down, sit down. I'll be back in a minute."

As she turned to her bedroom, there came a strong ring, twice repeated. She paused, astonished.

"Who can that be?" she thought, frowning, and directing her steps toward the antechamber. "No one is allowed to come up. It must be a telegram."

She opened the door, and Slade entered.

"I came right up," he said directly, "because I had no success on the telephone. You rather excited my curiosity this afternoon. Please invite me to your party."

The first moment of irritation was succeeded, on her part, by the feeling of elation. The impulse that had brought Slade so unexpectedly there was a feeling of jealousy, in which Beecher and Majendie were confusedly mixed.

"He wishes to watch me with his own eyes," she said triumphantly. "Very well; he shall be well punished."

Slade's arrival produced a moment of profound astonishment. Bloodgood and Maud Lille exchanged quick glances, believing the meeting between Majendie and Slade had been premeditated. Garraboy plucked Cheever nervously by the sleeve, while Majendie, as if realizing that he was dealing with an antagonist of a different caliber, rose with a little nervous inflation of the chest. Rapid as had been the interim in the antechamber, Mrs. Kildair had had time to say:

"Majendie is here. Do you know what happened this afternoon?"

"I do," said Slade, with malicious enjoyment, and he added: "Do you?"

"Yes," she replied, convinced, likewise, of the falsity of his statement. Then aloud she added: "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Slade, an impromptu guest."

She passed with him about the table, introducing him where it was necessary. Slade and Majendie did not offer hands; each bowed with a quiet, measured politeness. On the contrary, when Beecher was reached, the older man grasped the hand of the younger, and held it a moment with a grip that, despite Beecher's own strength, made him wince.

"Teddy, be a good boy and place Mr. Slade somewhere," she said, resting her hand purposely on the young man's shoulder. "I'll take off my apron and be back immediately."

She stopped near Majendie, who had returned to the punch-table for an extra glass, and, seeing that her movements were followed by Slade, said:

"Bernard, believe me, I did not plan it. I had no idea he was coming."

"It makes not the slightest difference," he said instantly. "Mr. Slade and I have no quarrel. Please don't worry about me."

"You're an awfully good sort," she said abruptly.

"That is high praise from you," he said, with a little critical smile which showed he was not entirely the dupe of her maneuvers.

She went into her bedroom, and, divesting herself of her apron, hung it in the closet. Then, going to her dressing-table, she drew the hatpin from the pin-cushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were there. The third one--the ring with the ruby--was gone!

*CHAPTER III*

Her first emotion was of irritation.

"How stupid!" she said to herself, and, returning to her dressing-table, began to search among the silver and ivory boxes. All at once she stopped. She remembered with a vivid flash putting the pin through the three rings.

She made no further search, but remained without moving, her fingers slowly tapping the table, her head inclined, her lips drawn in a little between her teeth, watching in the glass the crowded table reflected from the outer studio.

In that gay party, one person was the thief--but which one? Each guest had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been in the kitchen.

"Too much prinking, pretty lady," called out Garraboy, who, from where he was seated, could see her.

"Not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered: "Why not? He's shifty--who knows? Let me think."

To gain time, she went slowly back to the kitchen, her head bowed, her thumb between her teeth.

"Who has taken it?"

She ran over the characters of her guests and their situations as she knew them. Strangely enough, with the exception of Beecher and Majendie, at each her mind stopped upon some reason that might explain a sudden temptation.

"And even Majendie--if he is bankrupt or running away," she thought. "No, I shall find out nothing this way. That is not the important thing just now. The important thing is to get the ring back. But how?"

All at once she realized the full disaster of the situation. Slade would never believe her; and yet, how was it possible to admit before others who had lent her the ring?

"What could I say to him?" she thought desperately. "No, no; I must have the ring back, whatever happens. I won't give him that hold. I must get it back--some way--somehow."

And mechanically, deliberately, she continued to pace back and forth, her clenched hand beating the deliberate, rhythmic measure of her journey.

In the studio, meanwhile, under the gay leadership of Majendie and Nan Charters, the spirits of the company began to rise. The rival chefs were surrounded by anxious admirers, who shouted laughing instructions or protested with mock agony against the shower of red pepper.

The ceremony had served to bring Beecher and Nan Charters on terms of sympathetic familiarity. The young actress had the secret of what is meant by that much abused word--charm. Her vivacious movements were all charming. The eagerness with which her eyes seized the excitement of the moment, the soft and yet animated tones of her voice, the most casual gesture she made, or the most evident reply, all seemed invested with a peculiar charm which was at the same time a delight in pleasure and a happiness in the consciousness of pleasing.

Beecher did not or could not conceal the empire she had so suddenly acquired over his imagination, while Nan Charters, quite aware of what was happening, laughingly provoked him further, a little excited beyond the emotions of an ordinary flirtation.

During the progress of this personal duel, which, however, every one perceived with different emotions, Slade, placed at the middle of the table, followed only the expressions of Bernard Majendie, his scrutiny at times becoming so insistently profound that the banker several times noticed it with a swift glance of annoyed interrogation, which, however, did not alter in the least the fixity of the other's gaze.

Meanwhile, two or three conversations, expressed in snatched phrases, took place between those whose interests in the stock market were put in jeopardy by the mystery as to Majendie's fate.

"There'll be a rush of the shorts to cover tomorrow, if this is true," said Cheever in a low whisper to his wife. "Pump Mrs. Bloodgood all you can."

"How quick do you suppose they'll give the news out?" said Bloodgood to Garraboy. "It means a buying movement as soon as they do."

"Any paper may have the news tomorrow," said the broker, and the glass that he took from the punch-table shook as he raised it.

"Do you think Slade knows?"

"I'm not sure--but I think he does," said Garraboy carefully. "Better meet me at the Waldorf at eleven. I'll get another line on it by then."

"Why the deuce should he pull through?" said Bloodgood, with a quick, dull fury.

Garraboy, with his malicious smile, perceiving that Bloodgood's hatred was purely financial, chuckled to himself, took a couple of glasses in rapid succession, and returned to the table under perfect control, not without a scowl at the other end of the table, where Nan Charters and young Beecher were laughingly disputing the possession of the pepper-shaker.

A moment later, as Mrs. Cheever was exclaiming at their hostess' prolonged delay to Garraboy, who was dipping into the lobster a la Newburg, which he was preparing to serve, Mrs. Kildair slipped into the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it, at the same moment, with the same uncontrollable nervous start.

"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Garraboy, with a twitch of his arms. "You come in on us like a Greek tragedy. What is the surprise?"

As he spoke, Beecher, looking up, saw her turn suddenly on him, drawing her forehead together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line.

"I have something to say to you all," she said in a quiet, discordant voice, while her eyes ran restlessly through the company with a predatory sharpness.

There was no mistaking the gravity in her voice. Garraboy extinguished the oil-lamp, covering the chafing-dish clumsily with a disagreeable tinny sound; Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood swung about abruptly; Maud Lille rose a little from her seat; Nan Charters, dramatically sensitive, seized unconsciously the arm of young Beecher; while the men, with the exception of Slade, who still watched Majendie like a terrier, imitated their movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the feet.

"Mr. Bloodgood."

"Yes, Mrs. Kildair?"

"Kindly do as I ask."

"Certainly."

She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost an accusation. He rose, placing his napkin carefully at the side of his plate, raising his short eyebrows a little in surprise.

"Go to the vestibule," she continued, immediately shifting her glance from him to the others. "Are you there? Shut the sliding doors that lead into the studio. Lock them. Bring me the key."

He executed the order without bungling, while the company, in growing amazement, fascinated, watched his squat figure returning with the key.

"You've locked it?" she said, making the question an excuse to bury her glance in his.

"As you wished me to."

"Thanks."

She took from him the key, and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the door into her bedroom through which she had come.

Then, transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of Bloodgood, who still composedly awaited her further instructions, her eyes studied a moment the possibilities of the apartment and then returned to her guests.

"Mr. Cheever," she said abruptly.

"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."

"Put out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table."

"Put out the lights?" he said, rising, with his peculiar nervous movement of the fingers to the lips.

"At once."

Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the others.

"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," cried Nan Charters, with a little nervous catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up."

"Miss Lille," said Mrs. Kildair's undeviating voice of command, while Beecher placed his hand firmly over his companion's, which had begun to open and shut in nervous tension.

The journalist, more composed than the rest, had watched the proceedings from that shadowy calm which had made her presence almost unnoticed. Now, as though forewarned by professional instinct that something sensational was hanging on the moment, she rose quietly with almost a stealthy motion.

"Put the candelabrum on this table--here," said Mrs. Kildair, after a long moment's confrontation. She indicated the large round table on which the punch-bowl was set. "No, wait. Mr. Bloodgood, first clear off the table, cover and all; I want nothing on it."

As Bloodgood started to remove the punch-bowl, Majendie rose quickly and took the heavy candelabrum from the hands of Maud Lille, saying:

"Permit me; that's rather heavy for you."

"But, Mrs. Kildair--" began Mrs. Cheever's voice, in shrill crescendo.

Mrs. Kildair, as though satisfied by her examination of the journalist, nodded to Majendie, and, perceiving the mahogany table clear, said without notice of Mrs. Cheever:

"Good! Now put the candelabrum down on it."

In a moment, as Cheever proceeded lumberingly on his errand, the brilliant cross-fire of lights dropped away in the studio, only a few smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high ceiling seemed to recede as it came under the sole dominion of the three candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table.

"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice was cold and abrupt. "My ring has just been stolen!"

She said it suddenly, hurling the news at them, and waiting ferret-like for some indication in the chorus that broke out.

The hand that Beecher still grasped shot out from him as though it had been stung. For the first time, Slade, forgetting Majendie, wheeled brusquely and concentrated his glance on Mrs. Kildair, who listened unmoved to the storm of exclamations:

"Stolen!"

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair, not that!"

"Stolen--by Jove!"

"Rita dear!"

"What! Stolen--here--tonight?"

"The ring has been taken in the last twenty minutes," continued Mrs. Kildair, in the same determined, chiseled accents. "I am not going to mince words. The ring has been taken, and one of you here is the thief. This is exactly the situation."

For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp, while each, turning by an uncontrollable impulse, searched the face of his neighbors. Suddenly Slade's deep bass broke out:

"Stolen, Mrs. Kildair?"

"Stolen," she replied quietly, meeting his inquisitorial glance.

"Have you searched very carefully?" said Majendie. "Mistakes are easily made. It may have slipped to the floor. Are you certain that it has been taken?"

"Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt," said Mrs. Kildair, conscious of the almost admiring suspicion in Slade's glance. "Three of you were in my bedroom when I took off my rings, placed a hatpin through them, and fastened them to the pin-cushion. Am I correct, Mr. Garraboy?" she added abruptly.

"Perfectly so," said the broker, staring ahead with a sudden consciousness of his dilemma. He added punctiliously; "I was there."

"With the exception of Mr. Slade, each of you has passed through my bedroom a dozen times. The ring is gone, and one of you has taken it."

Mrs. Cheever gave a little scream and reached heavily for a glass of water. Mrs. Bloodgood said something inarticulate, covering her heart with her hand in the muffled outburst of masculine exclamation:

"The devil you say!"

"Incredible!"

"I saw it."

"By Jove! A nasty mess."

Only Maud Lille's calm voice could be heard saying:

"Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The ruby was on top."

Mrs. Cheever sought to add her testimony, but was incapable of speech. In her agitation she spilled half of the glass of water as she put it down from her lips.

"Was the ring valuable?" said Slade carefully, with a quiet enjoyment.

Their eyes met a moment--a look incomprehensible to the others.

"It was worth over fifteen thousand dollars," Mrs. Kildair answered, in the buzz of astonishment.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"I have not minced words," she said, turning her eyes to Maud Lille and back to Garraboy. "There is a thief, and that thief is here in this room. Now, I am not going to stand on ceremony. I am going to have that ring back in one way or another--now. Listen to me carefully. I intend to have that ring back, and, until I do, not a soul shall leave this room."

"A search?" said Slade quietly.

"No," she said instantly, tapping on the table with her nervous knuckles. "I don't care to know the thief--all I want is the ring. And this is the way I am going to get it." She stopped for another quick, searching glance, and continued with cold control:

"I am going to make it possible for whoever took it to restore it to me without possibility of detection. The doors are locked and will stay locked. I am going to put out the lights, and I am going to count one hundred--slowly. You will be in absolute darkness; no one will know or see what is done, and I give my word that I will count the full hundred. There will be no surprise, no turning up of lights. But if, at the end of that time, the ring is not placed here on this table, I shall telephone for detectives and have every one in this room searched. Am I clear?"

The transfer of the candelabrum to the further table had left those of the diners who had remained by the dinner-table in half obscurity. Instantly there was a shifting and a dragging of chairs, a confused jumble of questions and explanations.

Nan Charters for the second time seized the arm of Teddy Beecher. She murmured something which he did not hear. He glanced at her face, and for a moment an incredible suspicion crossed his mind. But the next, as he glanced down the table at the totally unnerved attitude of Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Bloodgood, he understood better the agitation of his companion.

"Do you suspect any one?" he whispered, by an impulse that seemed to spring into his mind.

The young actress turned to him with almost an expression of terror in her eyes, which at the same time implored him to be silent.

"She knows something," he thought, with a somber feeling. His own face was flushed. He felt that to all he must appear guilty. "Every one feels the same," he thought, looking again at his companion, who was gazing with almost frightened intensity straight ahead of her.

He followed her glance, and saw that the object of her gaze was none other than Mrs. Enos Bloodgood, who still held her hand pressed over her breast, her lips parted as though suffocating with emotion. But, before he had time even to consider the bearing of this discovery, Mrs. Kildair's voice, firm and unrelenting, cut short the confusion.

"Every one come to this table, please. Take your places here," she said, and to emphasize the command she rapped sharply for order.

In the bustle that took place, Beecher was separated from Miss Charters, and when he found himself at the table she was opposite him, her eyes on the table.

"Can you make a little room?" he heard Maud Lille's low voice say, and, drawing away from Cheever, who was on his right, he allowed the journalist to take her place beside him.

Majendie was on the left of Mrs. Kildair, Slade next to him, sweeping the table slowly with his direct, lowering glance, his lips slightly pursed. Bloodgood, his hands sunk in his pockets, stared bullishly ahead, while between Cheever and his wife there passed a covert, terrible glance of interrogation. Garraboy, with his hands locked over his chin, arms folded, looked straight ahead staring fixedly at his hostess.

Mrs. Kildair, having assured herself that all was arranged as she desired, blew out two of the three candles, which suddenly caused the eyes on the dim faces to stand out in startled relief.

"I shall count one hundred--no more, no less," she said quietly. "Either the ring is returned or every one in this room is to be searched. Remember."

She motioned to Slade, who, leaning over, blew out the remaining candle, while a little hysterical cry was heard from Mrs. Cheever.

The wick shone a moment with a hot, glowing spire, and then everything was black. Mrs. Kildair began to count.

"One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten--"

She gave each number with the inexorable regularity of a clock's reiterated note.

"Eleven--twelve--thirteen--fourteen-- fifteen--sixteen--seventeen--"

In the room every sound was distinct--the rustle of a shifting dress, the grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man.

"Twenty-one--twenty-two--twenty-three-- twenty-four--twenty-five--twenty-six--"

The counting went on, without the slightest variation, with a methodic, rasping reiteration that began to produce almost an hypnotic effect on the imaginations held in suspense.

"Thirty--thirty-one--thirty-two--thirty-three--"

A slight rasping breath was heard, and then a man nervously clearing his throat.

"Thirty-nine--forty--forty-one--forty-two--"

Still nothing had happened. No other sound had broken in on the strained attention of every ear. Yet the voice that counted did not vary in the slightest measure; only the sound became less human, more metallic.

"Forty-seven--forty-eight--forty-nine-- fifty--fifty-one--fifty-two--"

A woman had sighed--Mrs. Bloodgood next to him--the sigh of a woman yielding up consciousness to pain.

"Fifty-four--fifty-five--fifty-six--fifty-seven --fifty-eight--fifty-nine--sixty--sixty-one--"

All at once, clear, ringing, unmistakable, on the sounding plane of the table was heard a quick metallic note that echoed and reechoed in the empty blackness.

"The ring!"

It was Maud Lille's deep voice that had cried out. Beecher suddenly against his shoulder felt the weight of Mrs. Bloodgood's swaying body. The voice that counted hesitated a moment, but only a moment.

"Sixty-two--sixty-three--"

Several voices began to protest:

"No, no!"

"Light the candles!"

"It's too much!"

"Don't go on!"

"Seventy-five--seventy-six--seventy-seven-- seventy-eight--seventy-nine--"

The sound dominated the protest. Some one began to laugh, an hysterical, feverish laughter that chilled Beecher to the bones. He put out his hand and steadied the body of the woman next to him.

"Eighty-five--eighty-six--"

"Hurry, oh, hurry--please hurry!" cried the voice of Nan Charters, and some one else cried:

"Enough--this is terrible!"

"Ninety-five--ninety-six--ninety-seven-- ninety-eight--ninety-nine, and one hundred."

At once a match sputtered in the hands of Slade. There was a cry from every one, and the table shivered with the weight of those who craned forward. Then a second cry of amazement and horror. The table was absolutely bare. The ring a second time had been taken.

*CHAPTER IV*

For a full, strained moment not a sound escaped the company; even the strongest natures, Slade, Majendie and Rita Kildair seemed powerless to grasp what had taken place. Then the realization came, in a flash. What the first thief had failed to carry through another had boldly dared: a man or a woman, deliberately or hysterically, had seized the opportunity that had lain there, in the darkness, between the sixty-first second and the hundredth count.

The match in Slade's hands burned his fingers, and went out. In the sudden blackness a dozen cries were heard:

"Light the candle!"

"Turn on the electric light!"

"Search the floor!"

"Stolen again!"

"Ghastly!"

"A light! A light!"

Another match sputtered, and one candle caught the flame and flung its expanding circles of light around them.

"It must have rolled to the floor," said Majendie's voice, among the first.

"Nonsense!" broke in Slade's powerful bass. "There are no carpets; we would have heard it. There is a second thief here. Every one must be searched. Mrs. Kildair, if you wish I'll call up my detective agency."

"No," said Mrs. Kildair instantly, and her voice had regained its calm. "I will attend to that myself."

She went quickly to the door into the bedroom, unlocked it, passed through, and locked it again. A moment later the impatient ring of a telephone was heard.

In the ill-lit studio the greatest confusion prevailed. Every one seemed, by a common impulse, to desire to escape to the farthest ends of the room, stumbling and bumping against one another in the obscurity. Some instinct impelled Beecher to Nan Charters' side. He took her arm with a strong, reassuring grip, expecting to find her still shaken with emotion; but, to his amazement, he found her entirely collected.

"Thank you, I am all right," she said, releasing herself, with a little smile.

"Are you sure?" he said doubtfully.

At this moment, as he stood staring at her, perplexed, Slade's voice rang out peremptorily:

"The electric lights--some one turn on the lights!"

He left her, and, going to the wall toward the antechamber, pressed the three buttons embedded there. Instantly the great room was showered with a brutal glare. Near the piano, Mrs. Cheever was sunk in an arm-chair, in a seemingly hysterical state, while Mr. Cheever, glass in hand, was bending over her; Mrs. Bloodgood was seated at the dining-table, her head resting in her hands; Garraboy and Bloodgood were turning in the middle of the floor. Only Maud Lille, stoic and alert, remained at her original place. Slade and Majendie were carefully exploring the floor.

Beecher did not at once return to his companion. Her sudden change perplexed him with thoughts that he did not wish to analyze too deeply. He expected that she would rejoin Mrs. Bloodgood; but the young actress, as though purposely avoiding her, went finally to where Maud Lille was standing, and said, with a command that startled Beecher:

"Mr. Majendie, there is always a chance that the ring may have rolled off the table and been caught in somebody's dress. Such things have happened again and again. I suggest that every woman make a careful search."

"Miss Charters is quite right," said Majendie, who, advancing to the middle of the studio, repeated the suggestion. "The situation is frightful; we must take every precaution to avoid the chances of an accident."

The four women immediately began to examine the ruffles and draperies of their skirts--without success.

All at once the door at the back of the room opened, and Mrs. Kildair reappeared.

"I shall have the detectives here--a man and a woman--within half an hour," she said. "There is nothing to do but wait."

She seated herself in a chair near the door, her hands stretched out over the arms, her head lowered. Every one sat down, with the exception of Maud Lille, who, however, shifted a little so as to have the support of the piano. No one spoke; the situation had passed beyond comment.

On the dining-table the little alcohol-lamp under a chafing-dish burnt itself out unnoticed. At the end of thirty-five minutes, during which every one had been intent on the torturous progress of the clock, a sudden buzz was heard.

Mrs. Kildair rose and, passing out by way of the bedroom, was heard talking behind the closed doors that led into the hall, a sound followed by the indistinguishable jumble of voices.

A nervous five minutes, and she reappeared, with the same incomprehensible calm that had marked her during the period in the dark.

"The women will go into the bedroom," she said, without variation of her voice. "The men will be searched in the dining-room."

"One moment," said Slade, taking a step in advance.

Mrs. Kildair turned with a start, the first agitation noticeable.

"It is absolutely necessary for me to keep an appointment at ten o'clock," he said, glancing at the clock, which stood at the last quarter. "As I was not here when the ring was first stolen, I ask the privilege of being examined the first."

At this there was a murmur, and Mrs. Kildair hesitated.

Slade, giving a disdainful shoulder to the protest, strode deliberately to Mrs. Kildair and spoke with her in a low voice. At the end of a moment Mrs. Kildair nodded as though convinced, and, going to the folding doors, unlocked them. Outside a man in a dark business suit, as grimly correct as an undertaker, was waiting with folded arms.

Slade bowed and passed into the hall, shutting the doors behind him, while Mrs. Kildair came back slowly, evidently running over in her mind the order of selection.

"Mrs. Bloodgood," she said finally, "will you go first?"

Mrs. Bloodgood, surprised at the formal appellation, rose hastily, and started blindly for the vestibule through which Slade had passed.

"In my bedroom, please," said Mrs. Kildair.

The young woman checked herself, faltering a little, and entered the bedroom, where, for a moment, could be seen the drab figure of another woman, ornamented by a little toque with a red feather.

"Mrs. Kildair," said Majendie, rising, "it is equally important for me to leave as soon as possible. While I know that I ask a favor, possibly all of you know that my affairs are at a vital stage, and I should appreciate it very much if there were no objection to my being examined the next."

He turned, with a courteous bow, as he concluded.

"I am perfectly willing," said Beecher at once.

"I am not," said Bloodgood, while Cheever made a gesture of dissent.

"Nor I," said Garraboy. "I have my own appointment, that means a great deal to me. I regret that I cannot accede to Mr. Majendie's request."

"These gentlemen are quite within their rights," said Majendie, accepting the refusal with the same courtesy. He thanked Beecher with a smile, and added: "If you are willing, Mrs. Kildair, shall we draw lots for it?"

"Quite so," said Mrs. Kildair, and she arranged four slips in her fingers and tendered them.

Majendie drew the longest, and was, therefore, forced to wait until Garraboy, Bloodgood, and Cheever had passed ahead. He glanced at the clock with a sudden, uneasy look, and returned to his chair: but, for the first time, a frown appeared on his face, while his fingers tore into bits the slip of paper, which he did not notice he had retained.

Beecher was unpleasantly aware that Garraboy was watching him, and this scrutiny, which might have been inspired by a personal jealousy, struck him as a deliberate suspicion. He returned the look with a belligerent intensity, conscious in his own mind that he had already formed a prejudice as to the identity of the second thief.

"A woman might have taken the ring on impulse," he thought uneasily, "but only a man could have had the cold daring to take it the second time."

He eliminated Majendie by an instinctive rejection; Slade appeared an equally impossible solution.

"It's Cheever, Bloodgood, or Garraboy," he thought. "And Cheever hasn't the nerve--I don't believe it. It's Bloodgood or Garraboy--and Garraboy is the most likely."

Suddenly a hot, panicky feeling came to him. What if the real thief--Garraboy, for instance--had slipped the ring into his own pocket? He unlocked his hands and hurriedly searched his clothes. Then annoyed at seeing this childish action come under the notice of the broker, he shifted in his seat and glanced toward Nan Charters. To his surprise, he found again the same indications of nervousness in the concentration of her eye on the door leading into the bedroom.

At this moment Mrs. Bloodgood emerged, and Mrs. Cheever went in. At once the nervous tension of his companion seemed to relax, and she sank back in her seat, with an indifferent glance around the room.

"Decidedly, there is something queer between the two," he thought, mystified.

In the studio the same stony silence was maintained. Through the open doors that led to the antechamber Slade reappeared, hesitated a moment as if to reenter the studio, then bowed and went out. Behind him the detective was seen waiting. Garraboy rose and immediately passed into the back.

Mrs. Bloodgood had taken her seat apart, staring ahead as though by a difficult process of mental control, for at times her glance, despite the consciousness of her husband's espionage, flashed over to where Majendie was impatiently following the movements of the clock.

When Garraboy's search had ended, he followed the precedent of Slade, bowed without speaking, and departed; while Bloodgood, guarding the same silence, passed into the dining-room. Maud Lille succeeded Mrs. Cheever, who returned in the same state of agitation that she had shown from the beginning. She started to approach her husband, when Mrs. Kildair's controlled voice was heard:

"Not there, please, Mrs. Cheever. Kindly sit at this side of the room with Mrs. Bloodgood."

Mrs. Cheever flushed instantly, and sank, or rather collapsed, in the chair which had been indicated.

All at once there came another ring, followed by two or three impatient taps on the outer door. There was a sudden stir in the room, where all nerves were clearly on the edge, and Mrs. Cheever gave a little scream.

"I'll answer," said Cheever, rising.

"Wait," said Mrs. Kildair. She started toward the door, and then, changing her mind, as if unwilling to relax her surveillance of events in the studio, stopped. "Mr. Beecher, please," she said thoughtfully. "See who it is." And she moved slightly toward the half-drawn portieres, to hear and at the same time to be concealed.

Garraboy was outside, a coat on his arm.

"Excuse me," he said, without emotion. "I took the wrong coat. Stupid of me. Just found it out."

"It looks like mine," said Beecher, examining it.

"Probably is," said Garraboy, who extracted another coat of similar appearance from the rack, plunged into his pockets and nodded. "Sure enough. Sorry. Good night."

So thoroughly disagreeable an impression had the broker produced upon Beecher that, in a moment of suspicion, moved by an incredible thought, he ran his hands hastily through the pockets.

"I shouldn't have been surprised," he grumbled to himself, and returned to the studio, where the conversation had been overheard.

The search continued, ended, and, as all expected, no trace of the ring was found.

Mrs. Kildair excused herself, evidently maintaining her calm with difficulty. The guests, murmuring inarticulate phrases, took their wraps, and young Beecher found himself shortly in a coupe beside Nan Charters.

For several moments neither spoke, each absorbed in his own speculations. Beecher studied the figure at his side with covert glances, amazed at the transformation from the childlike charm which had first fascinated him. An hour before he had begun to wonder how far that feeling might develop in him; now, as he watched her, he was conscious of a dispassionate, almost resentful analysis. The fragrance of her perfume, a little too overpowering, filled the interior of the coupe. She herself, bending slightly forward, one elbow against the window-pane, pressed her ungloved knuckles against her chin, while her glance, set and controlled, was lost in the cloudy shadows and striped reflections of the street without.

"What is terrible in such a situation," she said musingly, but without turning, "is that any one may be suspected."

The words were spoken with almost an absolute change of personality. The very tone brought to him an increased antagonism.

"Quite true," he said. "You may have taken it the first time, and I the second."

She turned and tried to distinguish his expression; but, if he had hoped to startle, he was disappointed. She said, quite possessed:

"Why do you put it that way?"

"Because I am convinced that the second time was the deliberate action of a man, and that the first was the impulse of a woman."

"Why a woman the first time?"

"That is simply my feeling. A woman would not calculate the chances of detection, would have kept the ring on her person, and would have restored it. What do you think?"

"Possibly," she said, her glance returning to the street.

"But you don't agree with me," he said, leaning a little forward.

"I don't know."

"Miss Charters, will you allow me to ask you a question?"

"What? Yes."

"Don't you know that a woman took it the first time?"

She turned very slowly and looked at him steadily a moment.

"I do not know," she said at last.

"But you suspect," he persisted.

"Do you know, Mr. Beecher, that this is a very strange question?" she said. "Exactly what are you implying? Do you, by any chance, suspect me?"

She said the last words gently, with a return of the first manner which had so held him. And again, without being able to resist, he felt the charm on his senses. He knew absolutely nothing about her. At times the most direct suspicions had entered his mind; never-the-less all at once he heard himself answering:

"I know nothing in the world about you, Miss Charters, but my instinct tells me that is absolutely impossible."

"Only?"

"Only I can not forget your agitation at certain moments."

"Naturally; that is my temperament."

"You are perfectly calm now, and you were perfectly calm at certain times tonight."

She turned suddenly in her seat and faced him, saying sharply:

"What do you mean?"

"May I speak frankly?"

"I ask you to do so," she said peremptorily.

"I think--in fact, I am convinced--that you suspect who took the ring in the first place."

The cab was grinding against the curb. She put out her hand hurriedly, as if the impulse were to jump from the carriage. But immediately she checked the movement, and turned, saying very simply and directly:

"Do you wish to be my friend?"

"You know I do," he said, surprised.

"Then, if you do, and trust me, never ask that question again--or make the slightest reference to it."

She held out her hand. He took it, but without an answer, opened the door, saw her to her vestibule, and returned silent and moody, turning over again and again in his mind the sudden contradiction in her character.

"I wonder if she repels or attracts me most," he said, tramping over the quiet pavements, which flung back the riotous thumping of his cane. But, as he went aimlessly along, he felt again creeping over him the suddenness of her charm and a certain unsatisfied restlessness to see her again, which came to him with the faint scent of the perfume that had clung to his coat.

All at once he stopped.

"I've got to get to the bottom of all this affair," he said abruptly. "I believe she's as straight as they make 'em; I'd wager my soul on it--but I've got to know!"

And, boarding a surface car, he returned to Rita Kildair's.

*CHAPTER V*

He had arrived at the studio building and entered the lower vestibule before he was aware of the lateness of the hour. He pulled out his watch, and found that it was almost midnight.

"Good heavens!" he said, taking a step back. "I quite forgot the time." He started to go, then turned to the switchboard. "Could I telephone up to Mrs. Kildair's apartment?"

"Go right up, Mr. Beecher," said the hallboy, rising.

"Are you certain?" he said doubtfully.

"Sure. Orders is to send up any one who calls."

A little surprised, he entered the elevator. At that moment a ring sounded, and on the indicator the figure 4 dropped.

"That's her floor now," said the boy, starting up the elevator.

At the fourth he came face to face with Garraboy, who saw him with a start of surprise and a sudden look of malice. The two nodded, without cordiality.

"Hello," said Garraboy, looking at him with a curious fixity which he remembered after. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you?" said Beecher abruptly.

"Some valuable information to volunteer?" persisted the other, with a deliberate accent of irony.

"Perhaps."

"Indeed? Then you have come to assist in restoring the ring," said Garraboy in a low voice; and on his young, wrinkled face was a faint glimmer of a smile.

"Perhaps," said Beecher, flushing angrily. "Does that annoy you?"

"Not in the least," said Garraboy drily. "On the contrary, I am interested--exceedingly so." He lifted his hat slightly and stepped into the elevator.

"Now, what in the devil has he got in his mind?" thought Beecher angrily. "And what was his idea in coming back? Nice look he gave me. Thought he had such an all-fired important engagement that he had to hurry away!"

He tried the door absent-mindedly, and found it locked. A long moment after he had pressed a second time upon the bell, the door was opened by Rita Kildair herself, who drew back in evident astonishment.

"You?" she said, frowning.

"I was going to telephone," he said, a little embarrassed; "but they told me downstairs to come up."

"Quite right."

"Look here, Rita," he said, with a sudden feeling of intuition. "I know you probably think I'm a prime representative of the pinhead family, but I'm awfully broken up by what happened. Can't I help out some way?"

"Is that why you've come?" she said slowly.

"Of course," he said, meeting her scrutiny with a puzzled glance.

She considered a moment and then said abruptly:

"Go in and sit down. I'm busy at the telephone. I'll be back in a moment."

The studio was still blazing with the electric chandeliers, the dining-table still crowded with the untouched dinner, with that sense of desolation and fatigue which the aftermath of a banquet presents. Lighted up as it was, the studio had none of the mystery that charmed--rather, something of the cruel garishness of the white sun.

He moved about aimlessly, arms crossed, his imagination repeopling the room with the strongly accentuated personalities who had gathered there an hour before, saying to himself over and over:

"Now, why the deuce did Garraboy come back?"

He approached the table and abstractedly took an almond and began munching it. Then, perceiving the chafing-dish, reached over, with a smile, and lifted the cover. But, at the moment his hand was outstretched, his eyes, obeying some mysterious instinct, rose to a long Venetian mirror opposite. In the clear reflection that showed the balcony of the second floor, he distinctly beheld the head of a woman protruding a little beyond the curtain.

"What the deuce!" he said, covering the chafing-dish with a bang. "It can't be Rita--who then?"

All at once he comprehended. If the ring had not been found in the search, it was because it had been concealed in the room, and the woman in the balcony was a detective set to watch the trap--if the real thief had the daring to return.

At this moment Rita Kildair entered from the bedroom.

"Good heavens, Rita!" he said directly. "You don't mean to say you suspect me?"

"What do you mean?" she said, stopping short, her glance instinctively seeking the balcony.

"I mean you've stuck a detective up there to see what I do the moment I come into the studio. Good heavens! what do you think I came for?"

"My dear Teddy," she said, frowning at the stupidity of her spy, "is there any one who can't be suspected? Do you blame me?"

"No, I suppose not," he blurted out. "Only, it gives a fellow a deuced creepy feeling to have a couple of eyes looking through him from behind the curtain. I say, why don't you search the place? The ring must be here!"

"That is possible, of course," she said thoughtfully, her lip between her little teeth, an impulsive movement when she was plunged in thought.

"Or are you waiting for the thief to come back here and try to recover it? Of course, that's the plan."

"There's one thing," she said, with a quick, imperative gesture, looking at him closely, "I want you to remember. There is nothing public to be known. Whatever is done must be done quietly."

"Oh, of course," he said hastily. "I say, Rita, let me try to work this out with you--give me your confidence! I wish you would."

She considered a moment, as though puzzled by his offer.

"I don't think it will ever be found," she said, shaking her head and looking at him.

"But you suspect some one," he persisted.

She hesitated a moment, and then shook her head.

"No."

The second's delay convinced him.

"Man or woman?"

"It is only a speculation," she answered slowly, "but I believe it was a woman."

"Both times?"

"Both times."

He took a turn, moodily disturbed, and came back.

"Tell me this, Rita," he said. "Who else came back here tonight?"

"Garraboy," she answered slowly, "and--Mrs. Cheever."

"Mrs. Cheever!" he exclaimed, astonished. "Why, she was on the verge of prostration."

Mrs. Kildair smiled a thin, elusive smile, and was about to reply when there came a ring at the door.

Instantly her manner changed. Placing her finger on her lips, at the same time sending him a glance that commanded the utmost silence, she took his hand and led him softly from the studio, through her bedroom into the further obscurity of the dining-room, which was lit only by the weak reflection which filtered through from the hall.

"Sit here, and not a sound," she said, placing her lips so close to his ear that he felt the warm contact of her cheek. She gave him a slight pressure of her fingers, and went back into the studio by way of her bedroom, closing both doors.

Beecher, left in the darkness, strained every nerve to catch the sound that would reveal the identity of the new arrival. It seemed to him that he heard the sound of another woman's voice, and then presently, as a shadow came to him through the twilight of the hall, he heard Mrs. Kildair saying:

"--to telephone. Be back in a moment."

The next instant she was at his side, pressing his hand to prevent the whisper that was on his lips. They sat thus side by side for what seemed a full five minutes before she rose and silently passed into the hall again. Beecher remained in complete bewilderment, unable to detect the slightest sound of the conversation that was taking place. That the same test was being applied to the new-comer which he himself had detected, he understood; but which one of the many guests it might be, he could not discover.

At the end of an interminable interval, he heard a few faint sounds, the closing of the outer door, and presently the rustle of Mrs. Kildair's approach.

"Come now," she said, waiting for him in the hall.

"Who came back then?" he asked eagerly.

She shook her head.

"I can not tell you--at least, not now. There are reasons why it would not be quite fair," she said. Then, seeing his irritation, she tapped him on the arm and added: "Listen, Teddy. It is too late to talk over things. Run away now. Come in tomorrow at five."

"I want to help, you know," he said, taking her hand, guiltily conscious of the smile with which she examined him--a smile that seemed to convict him of treason. For the moment, however, the memory of the younger woman was dimmed. He was conscious only of the indefinite lure of mystery which Rita Kildair always exerted over his curiosity the moment they were alone.

"Look here, Rita," he said impulsively, "I should think, in a case like this, you'd want all the help you can get!"

Her smile disappeared. She looked at him a moment with almost a masculine penetration, and then, her smile returning, said quietly:

"It's curious, but each person who came back here tonight came back just to--help."

Not only her words, but her manner, struck him with a sense of discomfort.

"Come in tomorrow," she said, pushing him gently toward the door. She made a quick little motion with her fingers, looked at him with a penetrating seriousness, and disappeared, leaving him thoroughly confused and irritable.

"Why, she acts as though she suspected me!" he said, remembering her continual examination. "Who the deuce came back then? What's Garraboy in all this? Does he suspect me, too, and has he been saying anything to Rita? What is terrible in such a situation is that any one may be suspected." Suddenly he perceived that he had repeated the very words that Nan Charters had used in the coupe.

"By George, what a rotten mess! I feel like a pickpocket already," he said, with a sudden cold horror in his back. "Why shouldn't Rita suspect me as well as any one else? This is no pleasure party; this is serious--dead serious. I've got to work it out!"

*CHAPTER VI*