'What do you mean, old hag?'
'Ringa!' she repeated: 'no ringa, no fortuna.'
He snatched his hand away.
'What ring, thou cursed harridan?'
She shook her head again.
'No know. Ringa--I see it--green cat-stone--hold off Fortuna. Get, and
she change.'
He gnawed his lip, frowning and wondering. There was a ring in
question, certainly. Could it be possible its possession was connected
somehow with his personal fortunes? If that were so, here was a
veritable Pythoness.