"It is not in your possession?" said McKenna, with a sudden clearing of his forehead. "Mr. Mapleson, you are answering this because you feel bound—" "Not at all," said Mapleson quickly. "The ring was redeemed this morning. I know nothing more about it." The speculations which were occasioned by this disclosure were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come!" said McKenna sharply. An assistant entered the room with two letters. McKenna looked at the first and nodded, and then seeing the address on the second looked up quickly, saying: "How did this come—this letter for Mr. Beecher?" "It was sent down from his apartment, I believe, sir. Mr. Beecher’s man brought it, I think." "Very well." McKenna dismissed him with a gesture, but instead of opening his letter thrust both of them into his pocket. "That’s all, Mr. Mapleson," he said with incisiveness. "I’m sorry to have troubled you. It’s quite possible, as you perhaps believe, this case will be settled out of court." "Let’s hope so," said Mapleson non-committally. "I’m always at your service, you know. It’s I who should apologize. Mr. Gunther, remember me to your father. Mr. Beecher, I hope to meet you soon again." He shook hands warmly with Beecher, as though the young man had acquired a new value in his eyes, and went out. The moment the door had shut, McKenna had the two letters out of his pocket. "Two letters from the same lady," he said, tossing one to Beecher. "Both messages the same, too, I’ll bet. Of course!" He laughed and extended the letter to Gunther, who read: DEAR MR. MCKENNA: The ring has just been returned. Can I see you at once? Take no further measures. RITA KILDAIR. McKenna was a changed man. All the indecision had left him. His eyes were sparkling with pleasure and he was laughing to himself, as he took up the telephone. "Here, give me Clancy," he cried impatiently. "Hello. What’s the matter with Brady; hasn’t he come back with that information yet? He has? Well, why the devil—send in the figures! Quick!" A moment later a slip was in his hand and he was gazing at it eagerly. "Mr. Beecher, give me half an hour’s start—no, better, three quarters of an hour. Wait—have you got a car? Good. Drive me up to Mrs. Kildair’s as fast as you can get me there." "What about Garraboy?" said Gunther. "Is he to go free?" "Not by a damn sight!" said McKenna joyfully rushing them down the hall. In the office he stopped to say hurriedly: "Clancy, stick by Garraboy—feed him—but keep him close until I telephone you!" *CHAPTER XXIV*