WHO KNOCKS?
Miss Casata examined the ring with every show of interest.
'This is the ruby he took from Mr Holland.'
'It is.'
'It is the only one which Mr Holland had.'
'So the Flyman said. He ought to know. I believe, on this occasion,
he's no liar.'
'And it's not your uncle's?'
'It is not.'
'You are sure?'
'Dead.'
'Then, now I understand.'
'I wish I did share your understanding.'
'I understand why she laughed when he had gone, and why she said,
"Poor Guy, how disappointed he will be!"'
'What is it you're talking about? Would you condescend to explain?'
'Yet--I do not understand. It was the box. Wait; in a second I will be
back.'
She was back in less than a minute, bearing in her hand a small
leather-covered box. On the lid was gummed a narrow strip of paper, on
which was written, in delicate characters, 'The Burton Ruby.' Mr
Burton received it with a cry of recognition.
'It's it; but the writing's strange.'
'It is her writing.'
'It's uncle's box--the one in which he always kept the blessed thing.
There's his crest; there's where I dropped it in the ink.' He raised
the lid. 'It's empty!'
'Last night Mr Holland took from it the ring which was inside. I
always imagined that in it she kept your uncle's ruby, which was what
I said to Mr Holland, as I told you I would do.'
'You're a nice girl, Lou!'
'And you're a nice man! Are you not a nice man?'
Mr Cox interposed.
'Now, don't let's have any quarrelling. Stick to business. Time's
precious. Go on with your story.'
The lady turned and rent him.
'I will not go on with my story for you. What business of yours is my
story, you dirty Jew?'
Mr Burton smiled benignly.
'Personalities! personalities! Don't call the man a Jew, my dear. Cox
is no Jew; he's an anti-Semite. Continue your story for me, my love.'
Miss Casata complied with his request, although not in the most
gracious manner.
'Do not call me your love, or you will be sorry. As Mr Holland was
taking the ring out of the box, she came in--'
'And caught him at it? It must have been exciting. Wicked Guy!'
'He wished to give it to her back again, but she said, "Go, and take
it with you." He took it, and went. Then, when he had gone, she began
to laugh. She kept on laughing--it was true laughter, not false--as if
it was the best joke in the world, and she said, "Poor Guy, how
disappointed he will be!"'
'You notice things.'
'I am not a fool.'
'Is it possible that anyone ever mistook you for one?'
Mr Cox dug him with his elbow in the ribs, by way of a hint to him to
hold his tongue. Miss Casata went contemptuously on,--
'I perceive now that she laughed because she knew that he had not
taken with him what he supposed; but what I do not understand is,
where, then, is the ring? I know she kept it in this box.'
She examined minutely the one she held. Mr Cox put a question to Mr
Burton.
'For the last time, Burton, I suppose you're quite sure that it's not
your uncle's ring? Nice we should look if it was afterwards discovered
that you had made a mistake.'
'Don't be a silly ass! How many more times do you want to hear me
swear? I say, Cox, have you two legs, or four, and which end of you
are they? I might just as reasonably put such questions to you. I tell
you, I know.'
Miss Casata was still continuing her scrutiny.
'It is not the ring; you are right. It is not the ring which she used
to keep in the box. The stone in that, I think, was larger. It had a
crest on it, I remember. And inside there was a name engraved, "George
Burton." She showed it me one day, and she said, "I shall have to have
this stone remounted. I cannot wear a man's name upon my finger,
especially that man's name." I remember very well. Oh, no, this is not
the ring at all.'
Mr Burton turned in triumph to Mr Cox. 'You hear? Now, who's right?'
'You have seen the ring which you describe?'
'It is certain; more than once. When was the last time? Not many days
ago. It was in this box. She took it out of this box, she put it back
into the box, and the box she put into the little bottom drawer. I
remember it very well. When I heard of Mr Burton's will, I thought of
it at once.'
'Then where is it now?'
'She must have taken it out of the box and put it somewhere else.'
'But where? Think!'
'How do I know? how can I think? She must have put it with some of her
other jewels. They are everywhere--all over the place.'
Mr Cox and Mr Burton exchanged glances. The young gentleman took up
the running.
'In that case, we'll look for it all over the place.'
'What do you mean?'
'My dear Lou, I'm going to have that ruby, and before I leave these
premises. So, now, you've got it.'
'You will not touch her things?'
'I've no desire to do anything so indelicate. You tell us where it is,
or give us a hint.'
'I have not the slightest notion.'
'Then we'll investigate for ourselves.'
'You shall not touch her things!'
'Lou, you gave Guy Holland the tip. You helped him to commit a
burglary. Why should you be squeamish now?'
'That was different.'
'Of course it was. He's not attached to you like I am; he doesn't
worship the ground you stand upon. It isn't as though you were smitten
with Miss Bewicke, because you're not; you've told me so a hundred
times. She's going to play some pretty trick on her own account;
that's the meaning of her taking out the ruby, which she knew you knew
was in that box. And it's a thousand to nothing that she means to play
it at my expense. If I can help it, I don't mean to let her have the
chance. Your fortune's bound with mine; we sink or swim together. If I
don't get that ruby, and to-night, it'll probably mean that I go
under, and, if I go, you'll go too. My dear girl, you know you will.
Come, be sensible; be something like your dear own self. Do only half
for me what you did for Guy. Let me just have a look round for that
wretched ruby. By your own account, it must be somewhere close at
hand. I'm sure to get it, and, when I do get it, I'll not forget the
part you played. It'll not be my fault if I don't still make you the
best husband a woman ever had.'
'I was not here when Mr Holland came. I did not see what he did. I
knew nothing.'
'You need not see what we do. We have a little something somewhere
which will make you as unconscious of anything that may take place as
you can possibly desire. Then, if there is a bother, you will be able
to assume, with perfect propriety, the _rôle_ of injured victim. But I
don't see that there need be trouble, if you keep still. I've as much
right to that ruby as anybody else. I'm going to assert that right,
that's all. Now, be a good, kind girl. Go into another room and have a
nice little read. We're going to have a ruby hunt. Flyman!'
The Flyman appeared at the open door. At sight of him, Miss Casata
broke into a storm of exclamations.
'Not him! He shall not come in here. He killed Mr Holland! I saw him!
Mr Holland's blood is on his hands! I will not have that he come in
here!'
'My dearest girl, but that's absurd. He's the only one of the three
who understands locks. You don't want us to irretrievably ruin Miss
Bewicke's property owing to our sheer want of skill? And for a nose
for such a trifle as that ruby we are hunting for he has not his
equal. Now, you go and have a nice little read.'
He moved forward with the possible intention of taking her by the arm
and leading her from the room. If such was his design, it failed. As
he advanced, she slipped past him. Rushing to the door which led into
Miss Bewicke's bedroom, she placed herself in front of it. She took
out one of the three treasures which were in her pocket--the revolver.
Before the three men had even dreamed that she might be in possession
of such a weapon, it was pointed at their heads. Her tone when she
spoke was as significant as her attitude.
'If one of you tries to come through this door, I will shoot him dead.
Do not think this revolver is not loaded. I will show you.'
She fired, the bullet penetrating the opposite wall. Mr Thomas Cox
ducked as it passed. His companions instinctively shrank back. Her
lips parted in a grim smile. Apparently this was her idea of humour.
'You see I am not so helpless as you perhaps supposed. I am not
nervous, not at all. I am used to handle a revolver. I have won prizes
for pistol shooting, oh, several times. There are five more barrels
which are loaded. If I aim at you, I promise that I will not miss. You
shall see.'
The bearing of the trio, in its way, was comical, they were evidently
so completely taken by surprise. Mr Thomas Cox, in particular, looked
as if this were an expedition in which, under the circumstances, he
wished he had not taken part. He said as much.
'Look here, Burton, this is more than I bargained for. Before we came
I told you that I was not going to be mixed up with anything
equivocal. I have my character to consider. You said your lady friend
would listen to reason; if your lady friend won't listen to reason,
then I'm sorry, but I'm off.'
'Then you'll lose your money.'
'In that case you'll have to smart for it.'
'That won't give you your money. It's a nice little lot.'
'I know it's a nice little lot, and I can't afford to lose it; you
know I can't afford to lose it. But there's something I can afford to
lose still less, and that--that's my character.'
'Your character! Why, if you only could manage to get rid of your
character--I don't believe you yourself realise what an awful one it
is--it'd be the best stroke of business you've done for many a day, my
dear Cox!'
Mr Burton advanced, as if to tap his friend, in an affable manner, on
the shoulder. This brought him within a few feet of where Miss Casata
was standing. Laying his left hand on Mr Cox's shoulder, with his
right he snatched away that gentleman's walking-stick, swung round and
struck Miss Casata's outstretched wrist with such violence that the
revolver was driven from her grasp and sent flying across the room.
She gave a cry of pain. Her arm fell limp at her side. The blow had
been delivered with so much force that it was quite possible her wrist
was broken.
'You devil!'
'You wild cat!' returned the gentleman. 'Now, Flyman, on to her!'
The Flyman obeyed. The two gentlemen attacked the lady. Although she
fought gamely, especially considering her injured wrist, she was no
match for the pair. They got her down upon the floor, still struggling
for all that she was worth.
'Now, Flyman, where's that stuff of yours?'
'I'm getting it. She's a oner. She's bit me to the bone.'
With difficulty--he only had one hand disengaged--he evolved a tin
canister from his jacket pocket.
'Bite her to the bone! Let her have the lot!'
From the canister the Flyman managed to take a cloth--a cloth which
was soaked with some peculiar-smelling fluid. This he jammed against
the lady's face, even cramming it between her lips. She writhed and
twisted, then lay still.
As the Flyman got up, he examined the hand which she had marked with
her teeth.
'She takes a bit of doing. I shouldn't like to have to tackle her
single-handed.'
Mr Burton smiled. His clothes were a little rumpled. As he rose he
arranged his tie.
'Nice wife she'd make! What do you think?'
Mr Cox had occupied his time in picking up the revolver of which the
lady had been relieved. He seemed genuinely concerned.
'You know, Burton, I tell you again I didn't come here for this sort
of thing. I wouldn't have had this happen not--not for a good deal. I
shouldn't be surprised if we get into trouble for this.'
'My dear Cox, we should have got into trouble anyhow. We may as well
be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I'm going for the gloves.'
'Hung! Don't talk about hanging. You make a cold shiver go down my
back. You haven't--killed her?'
'Killed her? You innocent! She's the sort who take a deal of killing.
My good chap, when she comes to, she'll curse a little and go on
generally; but she'll forgive me in the end. I know her; she's a
dear!'
While the three men stood looking down at the unconscious woman, there
came a knocking at the outer door.