"Came to San Francisco, as you know; fled to escape pursuit; changing name, shipped as clerk on a merchantman from New Orleans. Next known of him, returned from the Far East under own name with apparently a certain amount of money. On hearing marriage of his sister, came to New York and established himself in Wall Street, largely through the aid of Bloodgood, over whose head evidently has held some threat. Met Maud Lille and probably came to some understanding with her; has paid her money from time to time. Encouraged sister’s infatuation for Majendie, whom sought to enlist in scheme for rice production in South; failed. Made money rapidly until three months ago, when several ventures failed and became involved. Secured personal loan of $10,000 from Majendie without knowledge of sister. Has lived at rate of $40,000 a year, running several establishments; said to have given $15,000 worth of jewelry to Mlle. Clo. D’Aresco, the dancer, on her last visit here. Made immense short sales in recent market and was on verge of failure when panic saved him. Has profited by infatuation of Mrs. Cheever to borrow large sums in last week. On day after theft sold steadily all day; under suspicions by his own clients and on verge of arrest, when drop in stocks turned tide in his favor. Reputed to have covered his losses and made $100,000 in last three days." "You were on his track then!" exclaimed Beecher, suddenly enlightened. "I was and I am," said McKenna; "and in less than twenty-four hours I’ll shake down that frisky gentleman for about forty-five thousand dollars that he has been speculating with. Four days ago I couldn’t have collected forty-five cents. That’s why I held off." "Good Lord!" said Beecher, suddenly remembering. "I say, McKenna, Miss Charters’ money is tied up with him. You don’t suppose—by Jove, I hope nothing’s wrong!" "You give me the amount," said McKenna with a click of his teeth. "I’ll get it. He knows, I guess, by this time what a pretty little story it would make in the morning papers. He won’t resist—not he!" "Look here," said Beecher excitedly, putting his hand to his pocketbook. "By Jove, that’s lucky. I’ve still got that order. I can telephone her now—" "Telephone nothing," said McKenna, reaching out his hand. "I don’t need that order, except as a reference. Just keep it quiet. The young lady won’t thank you less for your saving her without her knowledge, will she?" "No," said Beecher, flurried. "Here’s the order. When’ll you get at Garraboy?" "In about ten minutes," said McKenna, reaching over for a fresh cigar. "Here?" "Right here." "And the ring?" asked Gunther quickly. "What do you think?" said McKenna, his little eyes snapping through the blaze of the match as he lighted his cigar. "I think it lies between Mrs. Cheever, Miss Lille and Garraboy," said Gunther; "either woman took it and either passed it to Garraboy at the table—" "Well?" said McKenna, as Gunther hesitated.