"Well, yes," said Gunther, laughing; "but forget I told you. Besides, I have a feeling that things will open up now." "Is McKenna on the trail of any one?" "Well, yes," said Gunther slowly; "and I don’t think it’ll be long now before we hear of him. How about lunch?" At this moment a boy arrived with summons for Beecher to the telephone. He did not recognize the voice immediately. "You don’t know who it is?" said a woman. He thought he recognized the tones of Miss Rivers, whom he had shamefully neglected in the excitement of the last days; but, warily, he did not commit himself. "You’re disguising your voice," he said cautiously. "Not at all. You are not very flattering—but when one listens so much to the voice of Emma Fornez—" "Miss Charters," he said instantly. "At last." He was suddenly troubled at the discovery, for he had sincerely persuaded himself that he did not intend to see her again. "She is going to reproach me," he thought uneasily, "for not returning to see her last night. The devil! Well, I shall tell her the truth—I didn’t like her companion." But instead of reproaches she said in very good humor: "Look out, I can be very jealous. What are you doing tonight?" "I am dining out," he said, fibbing promptly, determined to remain firm. "Oh—I’m sorry," she said, with a quick dropping of her tone. "I wanted you to take me to a dress rehearsal that will be very amusing." "I’m sorry too." "What are you doing this afternoon, around tea time?" "I have an engagement," he said truthfully. "With Emma Fornez?" "Yes." "I am not very lucky, am I?" she said. The wounded tone in her voice made him feel a bit ashamed. He saw that she would not ask him again and relented a little. "Will you be in at four? I can drop in for a little chat then," he said, amazed at his own yielding even as he spoke the words. "Come then. I want very much to see you," she answered but without lightness. "Now I’m in it again!" he said ruefully as he left the telephone. "What the deuce made me say I’d go. Just because I didn’t want to hurt her—O Lord! Steady, old boy, steady!" Outside the booth he found Gunther, an afternoon’s paper in his hand, scanning it with excitement on every feature. "I say, Ted, here’s news indeed," he cried. "What do you think of that?" He pointed to the headline on the front page where the engagement of John G. Slade to Mrs. Rita Kildair was announced in large type. The two young men looked at each other in profound astonishment. "By Jove!" said Beecher, suddenly enlightened. "That’s what was at the bottom last night! Now I understand." In a moment he comprehended the full measure of the agony of uncertainty she must have suffered at his side in the returning automobile. "So that was her game after all!" "Now things’ll begin to move," said Gunther eagerly. "If she really knows who’s the thief, as McKenna believes, the ring ought to be returned in forty-eight hours." "Why?"