“I should bring an action,” she flamed, “for Breach of Promise.”
Mournfully Hubert shook his head.
“I’ve nothing in writing,” he said. “Besides, it’s the symbol I want. So
the correct action would be one for Detinue. I wonder which one you
dropped it in,” he added musingly. “I seem to remember some felt being
down somewhere, and it may have been there. That would account for our
not hearing it fall.” He knitted his brows. “Now, where was that
blinkin’ felt? Oh, I know. It was at The Eighty-nine Steps.”
“Must you rush off?” said Julia shakily.
“Must, I’m afraid,” said Hubert, opening the door. “Sleep well,
sweetheart. I’ll ring up one day next week—just to say I’m alive.”
A moment later he let himself out of the house.
* * * * *
Twenty-four hours had gone by.
“George,” said Miss Willow, “do you love me?”
Setting his elbows upon the severing march of table-cloth, George Fulke
crowded into his eyes as much devotion as they would hold.
“You are my star,” he said fervently.
“Good,” said Julia. “Well, now let’s come down to earth. I wired for you
because I’m in need of a—a——”
“Knight?” suggested George Fulke.
“Yes, but dismounted,” said Miss Willow. “Don’t be soppy. This table
isn’t round. . . . And now listen. Entirely between you and me, I want
to break off my engagement.”
“Julia darling!”
“That’s better,” said Miss Willow. “Now listen again. I tell you I want
to break it, and so I do. But I can’t do it.”
“Why on earth not?” cried Fulke.
“Because I’ve lost my ring. It was a perfectly beautiful ring—an
enormous solitaire emerald. Heaven knows what it was worth. And of
course I can’t possibly fire Hubert without handing it back.”
George found his moustache and pulled it respectfully.
“But supposing,” he said, “supposing you can’t find it.”
“I _must_ find it,” said Julia. “At least, you must.” She produced a
sheaf of papers. “There are some ‘orders to view.’ The ring’s in one of
those flats—or houses: I don’t know which. I may have dropped it in a
taxi, but I don’t think so. All you’ve got to do is to go and ask to see
over these places as if you wanted to take them. Then, while you’re
being shown round, you can look for the ring.”
Fulke received the papers with a bewildered air.
“I see,” he said slowly, counting. “Ten. You’ve no idea which, of
course.”
“Not the remotest,” said Julia, sipping her coffee. “But you might find
it in the first.”
“I might, of course,” said Fulke thoughtfully. “Have you been to
Scotland Yard?”
“Not yet,” said Julia.
“Well, I’ll go there first,” said George. “Just in case——”
“No, I’ll go to Scotland Yard. You must start on the flats. There isn’t
a moment to lose. Supposing a caretaker found it.”
“They’d probably take it to the police.”
“They’d probably freeze on to it,” said Julia. “I know I should. It’s a
most beautiful ring.”
Fulke drank some champagne.
“I think,” he said uneasily, “I think when I ask to see over, I’d better
say why I’ve come.”
“Why?”
“Well, they’ll think I’m mad or something—staring all over the floors.”
“Not if you do it properly. You see, my dear, you mustn’t give it away.
If you do, they won’t half show you round, and the moment you’re gone
they’ll go through the place with a tooth-comb.”
“All right,” said Fulke gloomily. “I don’t care. Only, if I do find it
there’ll be a hell of a row. They’re bound to see me pick it up, and if
it looks as valuable as you say it is——”
“Then you can explain,” said Julia, lighting a cigarette. “Once it’s
found, you can tell them that that’s what you came for. The great thing
is to find it.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Fulke. “It’s the goin’ I’m thinkin’ about. If I
don’t find it, they’ll think I’m mad: if I do find it, they’ll think I’m
a thief: and if I try to explain, they’ll probably knock me down. . . .
However, if it’s going to bring you freedom . . .”
“That’s a dear,” said Julia.
There was a moment’s silence.