Part 4

"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."