"Gentlemen," said McKenna, answering with a nod an assistant who opened the door at this moment, "I’m not given to boasting, but I’ll risk this." He went to the desk, wrote a name on a card, sealed it in an envelope and handed it to Beecher. "That’s the name of the person who took the ring. Keep it until it is found. That sounds like Sherlock Holmes, but there’s one reason why I feel like being a little stagey; and I don’t mind admitting to you that I got to it by deduction—honest deduction, though!" "Why’ve you Garraboy here, then?" said Beecher, while the letter in his pocket seemed to radiate heat like an ember. "Do you want to know?—you’ll be surprised," said McKenna, going to the desk again. "Well, it’s to convince myself that Garraboy had nothing to do with it." "What!" exclaimed the two. McKenna made them a signal to be silent and, taking up the loose sheets of the different records, started to place them in the drawer; but all at once he stopped, selected one, the record of the broker himself, and laid it face up on the table. The next moment the door opened and Garraboy came warily into the room. *CHAPTER XXI* At the sight of Beecher and Gunther, Garraboy stopped short, evidently nonplused. "I was told to come in," he said, lifting his eyebrows. "Quite right," said McKenna briskly, raising his voice a trifle. From the moment of the broker’s entrance his eyes fastened on Garraboy, never leaving him. "Come right in." "I’m interrupting—" said Garraboy carefully, conscious of this set gaze. "Not in the least." "I thought our business was confidential, McKenna," he said, without having moved from the position he had taken on entering. "I fail to see—" he stopped and looked again at the two young men. "Oh, Mr. Beecher and Gunther," said McKenna affably; "suppose we call them attorneys for one of your clients." "Miss Charters?" "You’re a good guesser, Mr. Garraboy." The broker drew in his upper lip and, coming slowly forward, said: "The presence of these gentlemen is exceedingly distasteful to me." "You’re not in a position to object, Mr. Garraboy." Garraboy turned his back and walked slowly back and forth, evidently in distressed conjecture, occasionally raising his head to shoot a glance at the three, half in rage, half in fear. All at once he stopped by the desk as though his mind had come to a certain decision, and, bearing heavily on it, said: "I do not know that I care, under the circumstances, to enter into any discussion. You, Mr. McKenna, represent my client, Mrs. Alva White; your claim against me is for forty-five thousand eight hundred and forty-six dollars." He drew out his pocketbook. "I have here a check made to your order." A second time he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a check-book. "I was not notified that Miss Charters’ was also under discussion. However, I will settle that at once. To whose order, please?"