Taking a ring from his waistcoat pocket, slipping it on to his little ringer, he held it out for the other's inspection, eyeing Mr Cox in a very singular manner as that gentleman bent over to examine it. 'Did you get that from--the person we've been talking about?' 'I did.' 'To-night?' 'To-night. Not an hour ago--as he came out of the house.' Mr Cox turned to Mr Burton, who was sitting upon the floor. 'Get up, you jackass! Come here and see if this is what we're after.' Mr Burton's answer was not exactly a response to this peremptory invitation. 'I'm not feeling--as I ought to feel.' 'So I should think. You'll soon be feeling still less as you ought to feel, if you don't look out.' He assisted the gentleman on to his feet. 'Now, then, pull yourself together. Come and see if what the Flyman's got is your uncle's ring.' As Mr Burton advanced, the Flyman dropped the hand with the ringed finger. 'Don't you let him snatch at it, or I'll down him.' 'He won't snatch at it. You needn't be afraid of him.' 'I'm not afraid of him--hardly; only I thought I'd just give you a little warning, that's all. There you are, Mr Burton; there's what's worth more to you than you're likely to tell me.' Mr Burton only bestowed upon the outstretched hand a momentary glance; he drew back as if what he saw had stung him. 'It's not!' 'What d'ye mean?' 'It's not my uncle's ring.' The fall, or something, had sobered him. He had become disagreeable instead. He snarled, showing his teeth to the gums, as if he would have liked to assail the man in front of him with tooth and nail. 'Curse you, Flyman! what's the game you're playing?' 'What's the game you think you're playing, that's what I want to know?' 'That's not my uncle's ring, and you know it's not. Come, out with it! no tricks here!' 'This is your uncle's ring, and you're trying to kid me that it isn't, thinking to do me out of what you promised. Don't you try that on, Mr Burton, or you'll be sorry.' The two men glared at each other with their faces close together, Mr Burton meeting the Flyman's threatening glances without flinching. He turned to Mr Cox. 'Cox, what he's got on his finger is no more my uncle's ring than I am.' 'You're sure of that?' 'Dead certain. The stone in my uncle's ring was much larger, better colour, finer altogether. It bore his crest--on that thing there seems to be a monogram--and inside the gold mount, at the back, his name was engraved--"George Burton."' 'We can soon settle that part of the question. Flyman, is there a name inside that ring?' The Flyman was already looking for himself. 'There's not; there's no name. Is this a plant between you two to do me out of my fair due?'