“Did you get rid of it?” he asked hurriedly.
“I did not,” she gasped. “That mean old monocle-man wouldn’t let me.
He’s just kept his eye on me every moment. When I went up-stairs, he
followed. There he is now. See how he’s watching us. Oh, what shall I
do, if they find me with it?”
“Give it to me,” said Bob.
“No, I won’t.”
“But do you realize what it means if they find it on you?” he asked in
alarm.
“We would go to jail together,” said jolly little pal.
“But I won’t have you go to jail. It’s preposterous.”
“Maybe I deserve it,” she remarked, “for having ‘peached.’ I hope,”
wistfully, “our cells will be close together. Did you have a nice dance
with Miss Gerald?”
“Give it to me,” commanded Bob sternly. “If you don’t, I’ll—I’ll take
it from you.”
But she put her hand behind her. “Isn’t Gwendoline the most beautiful
thing in the world?” she said. “We’ll talk about her in jail. It’ll help
pass the time.”
“Give—”
“I’m not the least bit jealous, because now I’m only your really-truly
little pal,” she went on. “I wish I could be your best man. But I don’t
suppose that’s feasible.”
“Give—”
“I might swallow it,” she observed tentatively.
“Great heavens!” he reached for her hand.
“Aw!—fortune-telling?” said a voice.
“Yes; he was just going to read my palm,” answered jolly little pal
promptly while Bob turned rather nervously to regard the monocle-man.
“Perhaps—aw!—I could read it,” suggested the monocle-man, looking at
the closed fingers. “I have some—aw!—skill that way. Perhaps, Miss
Dolly—aw!—you would permit me to look at your heart line?”
“I just won’t,” said Miss Dolly, with flashing eyes.
Bob watched her closely. If she tried to swallow it, he would stop her.
“How—aw!—very unkind!” said the monocle-man. “If you
would—aw!—permit me, I could tell you—? aw!—just what kind of a man
you’re going to marry.”
“I’m not going to marry any one,” replied the jolly little pal.
“Please now, do—aw!” he urged.
“Well, if you want to be tiresome.” She gave him the hand that didn’t
hold the ring.
“Impulsive! Charming!” he said, bending his monocle owlishly over the
soft pink palm. “Now the other?”
“Won’t!” she returned succinctly.
Bob drew yet nearer. He believed she was quite capable of carrying out
that threat of swallowing it.
“But how can I complete telling your fortune—aw!—unless I see the
other hand?” expostulated the monocle-man with a pleasant smile. “I
desire especially to examine the Mount of Venus.”
“There isn’t any mountain any more,” said the jolly little pal. “It’s
been moved away.”
“Aw! How interesting! Then we might survey the vale of friendship.”
She looked around like a bird in a snare; the hammer-man was not far
away and impulsively she flew over to him.
“Was this our dance? I’m so forgetful!”
“It wasn’t, but it is,” he returned with a smile. Obviously he was
flattered. Heretofore Miss Dolly had not acted particularly prepossessed
by the hammer-thrower; he hadn’t any temperament—so she thought; he
didn’t swing one around with enough abandon. He was one of those serious
goody-goody dancers. He swung Miss Dolly very seriously now; they went
so slowly for her that once she stumbled over his feet. It was evident
their temperaments didn’t match. Or maybe what she held in one hand had
made her terribly self-conscious. Bob watched them gloomily. He feared
she might swallow it during the dance, but she didn’t, for the little
hand was partly closed still when she left the hammer-thrower and Bob
gazed around for that confounded monocle-man. The latter, however, had
apparently lost interest in palm-reading and the temperamental little
thing, for he was nowhere to be seen. Miss Dolly’s eyes were at once
frightened and strange when she fluttered again to Bob’s side.
“Oh, I’ve done the most awful thing,” she confided quite breathlessly to
him.
“You—you haven’t swallowed it?” he exclaimed in alarm. He thought he
had watched her closely, but still she might have found opportunity—she
might have made a swift movement to her lips which he had failed to
observe.
“No, I haven’t swallowed it,” she answered. “I’ve done worse.”
“Worse? What could be worse?”
“I slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.”
“Whose? The hammer-thrower? No? By jove!—”
“I did it when I tripped. And I tripped purposely, and when he was very
gallant and kept me from falling, I—I slipped it in. And isn’t it
awful? Poor man! He’s such a goody-good. You don’t mind, do you?”
Anxiously.
“Oh, I mind a heap,” said Bob jovially. “Ho! ho!”
“I was afraid you might scold.”
“Scold? No, indeed. I’m awfully obliged and I only wish I could do
something for you to show how thankful I am.”
“Do you? Then you might—” She gazed toward the conservatory where it
was dim and shadowy. “No; it wouldn’t do. We’re not engaged any more.
Besides—” And she looked toward a straight proud figure with golden
hair. She didn’t finish what she was going to say. Only—“I guess I
won’t make you,” she added.
“Thanks,” said Bob. “You’re sure the best pal a chap ever had. But
honest! I hate to be mean and disappoint you after all you’ve done. And
I might volunteer, if you’d make it just one—or, at the most, two.”
A moment the temperamental little thing seemed to waver. Then the
rosebud lips set more firmly. “No,” she said. “It’s awfully dear of you
to offer, but I don’t want any. You’ve made me see the error of my ways.
I’ve reformed. I only want to be your jolly little pal. But you haven’t
any conscientious scruples about the way I disposed of it, have you?”
she asked, swiftly changing the subject.
“Conscientious scruples? Not one. Ho! ho!”
But the laughter faded suddenly from Bob’s lips. At that moment the
hammer-thrower chanced to put his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. Then
he gave a slight start and glanced toward the temperamental little
thing; his brow was lowering, and he appeared to meditate. Bob knew
there must be murder in his heart. Just then from across the room, Bob
saw the monocle-man approaching the hammer-thrower.
The latter cast a swift look toward him of the monocle. It was the look
of a man who for the first time, perhaps, fully realizes, or begins to
realize certain unexpected forces arrayed against him. He now had the
ring and he dared not keep it. If he had never entertained any
suspicions regarding the monocle-man’s identity before, there was
something about the other now that awoke sudden and secret misgivings.
The monocle-man didn’t make much of a point of disguising his
watchfulness at the present time. That was odd—unless he didn’t greatly
care just now whether any one guessed his identity or not. Possibly the
psychological moment was approaching.
The hammer-thrower thought, no doubt, that Bob had told the
temperamental little thing that he (the hammer-man) had taken the ring
from Miss Gerald’s room and Miss Dolly had offered to return it to the
hammer-thrower. And she had found a way to do so. It was clever. But the
hammer-thrower was not in a mood to appreciate the grim jest. Now that
the tables were turned, Bob and Miss Dolly would make it their business
to see that the glittering trifle was found in _his_ possession. The
hammer-thrower couldn’t dispose of it under the circumstances; he was in
exactly the same predicament Bob had been in. Suddenly he seemed to make
up his mind what to do; he adopted the most daring expedient. In those
few moments he had done some very rapid thinking. He stepped toward Miss
Gerald now, his face wearing its most reliable expression. Honesty
fairly radiated from his square solid countenance.
“Miss Gerald,” he said, “may I speak with you privately?”
“Is it important?” she asked.
“Very!” in his most serious manner.
She complied with his request, and they withdrew from the hearing of
others.
“Miss Gerald,” he began abruptly, “have you lost a ring?”
She gazed at him in surprise.
“I have.”
“Is this it? I believe I recognize it as one you have worn.”
“It is.” Gwendoline’s look swerved toward Bob. “But—” she began.
“You do not understand how it came in my possession?” he asked, in an
even monotonous tone.
“I certainly did not think that you—”
“You didn’t think I had it?” Seriously.
“I did not.” And again she looked toward Bob.
“I did not know I had it myself,” he observed gravely, “until just this
minute. You believe me, I trust?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, “I believe you. But how—?” Again she paused.
“Did I come by it? A certain young lady I danced with just now placed it
in my waistcoat pocket.”
The hammer-thrower held himself squarely, with a poise that expressed
rectitude. He was rather well satisfied with what he had done. He argued
that his action, from Miss Gerald’s point of view, must be that of an
innocent man. If he (the hammer-thrower) had taken the ring it wasn’t
likely he would step up to Miss Gerald and offer it back to her. His
bold move complicated the issue; but he did not doubt, however, that he
would emerge from the affair with credit.
“Of course I am aware that it is a serious charge to make,” went on the
hammer-thrower, “but what was I to do? I never was put in a more painful
position.”
“Painful, indeed,” replied Miss Gerald sympathetically. “Of course it
was a joke.”
“I am glad you take that view of it,” he replied. “You can see that
naturally I found it deucedly awkward. Things have been disappearing in
so many country-houses, don’t you know. It wouldn’t have been a joke for
me if I hadn’t fortunately discovered it as I did. Under the
circumstances, I don’t really appreciate Miss Dolly’s jokes.”
“But mightn’t it have been some one else?” suggested Gwendoline.
“I danced only with you and Miss Dolly.”
“Well, naturally, it wouldn’t be I,” said Gwendoline with a smile.
“There’s Dolly now talking with Mr. Bennett and Lord Stanfield, Suppose
we speak to her. But I wouldn’t have any one else know for the world.
I’m really very sorry Dolly’s heedlessness should have caused one of my
aunt’s guests any embarrassment.” Miss Gerald was graciousness itself.
In spite of the thrill of the moment, the hammer-thrower couldn’t
prevent an expression of honest approval gleaming from his eyes. “You
are very kind,” he said in a low tone. “You will never know all this
visit has meant to me. I, too, regret exceedingly that what you regard
as one of Miss Dolly’s mad pranks—and we all know how prone she is to
do the unconventional—should have involved me in a little episode that,
perhaps, isn’t so agreeable as it should be. I trust, though, you don’t
blame me for coming to you at once about the matter?”
“Why should I blame you?” The violet eyes full on the deep serious ones.
“I suppose I might just have placed it somewhere, on the mantle, for
example, and not said anything about Miss Dolly’s part in the affair,”
he observed musingly. “It might have been more chivalrous. One doesn’t
like to complain of a woman, you know, and a fellow guest at that.” With
regret that sounded genuine.
“I think you took the only course a conscientious man could,” said
Gwendoline Gerald. “Indeed, I can appreciate your position. You did what
any honest man would feel impelled to do.”
Again that gracious smile! Again a slight gleaming in the hammer-man’s
eyes! At the moment she seemed to realize in every way the poet’s
picture of regal young womanhood—“divinely tall” and most divinely
fashioned, she appeared, as she stood with the light from a great
chandelier full upon her.
“Your approval is very dear to me,” the hammer-thrower murmured. “I
think I have your friendship. That is much—much, indeed. But—” For a
moment he seemed about to say more. His strong, honest-looking face
surely wore an expression of some feeling deeper than friendship.
Would Gwendoline Gerald have shrunk from a verbal expression of what his
look seemed to imply? The violet eyes never appeared deeper, more
enigmatic—receptive. The hammer-thrower did not go on, however. He
reverted to that other topic.
“Perhaps it would be as well to drop the matter altogether,” he
remarked. “I am quite satisfied to do so, if you are.”
“That is nice of you,” she said in a tone that implied she still
approved of him. “But I think I shall speak to Dolly. Or, at least, let
her see the ring is on my finger.”
“I can’t understand why she should have done it,” he observed in puzzled
accents as they crossed the room. “I can’t quite see how it can be
classed as a joke.”
“Dolly has the wildest idea of humor,” returned Gwendoline. “As a little
girl she was always doing the maddest things. Perhaps, too, she has been
reading about those sensational robberies and wished to perpetrate a
hoax.”
“I say, that would have been rather rough on a fellow, wouldn’t it?”
“And then, after creating a little excitement, she would have come
forward and said she did it. Maybe she read about that escapade of young
men and girls at an English house-party. They carried off valuables in
an automobile, and returned the same, piece-meal, by parcel post. I
don’t say my explanation of Dolly’s prank is a correct one,” said Miss
Gerald, tentatively lifting long sweeping lashes to regard her
companion, “but it may in some measure throw light upon it.”
“Unless—?” He paused.
“Unless what?” she asked.
“Nothing. Only I was thinking—”
The violet eyes became suddenly darker. “You mean about what you told me
this morning—about Mr. Bennett and how you found him—?”
“I really didn’t wish to speak of that, only it was strange—” He
stopped.
“Strange, indeed,” she observed, studying him.
“Anyhow, I can’t see how to connect that with this,” he confessed.
“There does seem a missing-link somewhere,” observed the girl. “Do
you”—and her eyes were again full upon the deep serious ones—“like Mr.
Bennett?”
“I neither like nor dislike him.” They had stopped for a moment in a
doorway. “His manners have been rather extraordinary. I honestly can’t
make him out. He looks rational enough and yet he acts most
irrationally.”
“I am going to tell you a great secret,” said the girl. “Please do not
speak of it to any one else. Some one in the house has been taking
things—in earnest, I mean.”
“No? Is it possible?” he observed. “Then it wouldn’t have been nice for
me if that ring—?” Honest indignation shone from his eyes. “I must say
Miss Dolly did take a confounded liberty.”
“Under the circumstances, yes,” said the girl gravely.
“You say things are missing? Great Scott!”
“I did not say missing.” Quickly. “It is a case of substitution.”
“Pardon me if I fail to understand.”
She explained. “By jove! that is clever. I am honored by your
confidence. I won’t betray it. Your aunt is naturally distressed?”
“Naturally—though she appears the same as usual. However, she is
determined to put an end to these affairs. Society has been frightfully
annoyed. It is not nice to ask some one down and then to have her
lose—”
“I understand,” said the hammer-thrower gravely. “If your aunt can stop
these unfortunate occurrences society will owe her a great debt. But
tell me further, if I am not intruding too greatly on your confidences,
does the finger of suspicion point anywhere?”
“Yes,” returned the girl.
“Of course,” he said, and looked toward Bob.
That young man’s face did not now express any trace of satisfaction or
jovial feeling. He looked both puzzled and worried, and glanced
apprehensively from time to time at the sentimental young thing. The
monocle-man _was_ telling her fortune now. With British persistence he
had reverted to the subject upon again approaching the couple, which he
did almost immediately after the hammer-thrower returned to Miss Gerald
her ring.
“You missed your ring?” said the hammer-thrower after a pause.
“Yes. But I never imagined—”
“It would be returned in such an extraordinary manner? I don’t see where
he—?” And the hammer-man paused again with downbent brows.
It was not hard for her to read the thought. He did not see just where
Bob Bennett “came in.” That’s what he once more implied. He didn’t wish
to be unjust to any one. His expression said that.
“I guess it must just have been a whim,” he conceded after a moment,
handsomely. “After all, it’s proofs that count.” The sentence had a
familiar sound to Miss Gerald who entertained a vague impression she had
said something like it to Bob. They approached Dolly.