He paused for a very tense second. I wished I could see his peculiar, young-old face--the face with the inscrutable eyes; the face that urged, rather than inspired, both curiosity and confidence. Then he added: “I know why you wear it; I realise that the trinket carries some very tender associations. And I would never ask such a concession did I not know, were your beloved here at this moment, he would endorse every word that I say, and--” “Harry!” cried Charlotte, her voice shaking. “He would tell me to give it to you?” “I am sure of it! It is as though he, through me, were urging you to do this!” For some moments there was silence. Charlotte must have been tremendously impressed. It certainly was amazing the degree of confidence that Avec's voice induced. I wouldn't have been greatly surprised had my sister-- “Mr. Avec,” came Charlotte's voice, hesitatingly, almost sorrowfully. “I--I would like to believe you; but--but Harry himself gave me the ring, and I feel--oh, I'm sure that my brother would never agree to it!” “I understand.” Somehow the fellow managed to conceal any disappointment he may have felt. He contrived to show only a deep sympathy for Charlotte as he finished: “If I find it possible to protect you, I shall, Miss Fenton.” After it was all over, and I returned to the rooms, Charlotte and I concluded that it might have been better had we made some sort of compromise. If we had made a partial concession, he might have told us something of the mystery. We ought to have bargained. We decided that if he made any attempt to carry out what I felt sure were merely a thinly veiled threat to punish us for keeping the gem, we must not only be ready for whatever he might do, but try to trap and keep him as well. That same day found us back at Chatterton Place. Inside, there was altogether too much evidence that the place had been bachelors' quarters. The first step was to clean up. We hired lots of help, and made a quick thorough job of both floors. The basement we left untouched. And the next day we put a force of painters and decorators to work; whereby hangs the tale. “Mr. Fenton,” called the head painter, as he varnished the “trim” in the parlour, “I wish you'd come and see what to make of this.” I stepped into the front room. He was pointing to the long piece of finish which spanned the doorway leading into the dining-room. And he indicated a spot almost in the exact middle, a spot covering a space about five inches broad and as high as the width of the wood. In outline it was roughly octagonal. “I've been trying my best,” stated Johnson, “to varnish that spot for the past five minutes. But I'll be darned if I can do it!”