She passed with him about the table, introducing him where it was necessary. Slade and Majendie did not offer hands; each bowed with a quiet, measured politeness. On the contrary, when Beecher was reached, the older man grasped the hand of the younger, and held it a moment with a grip that, despite Beecher’s own strength, made him wince. "Teddy, be a good boy and place Mr. Slade somewhere," she said, resting her hand purposely on the young man’s shoulder. "I’ll take off my apron and be back immediately." She stopped near Majendie, who had returned to the punch-table for an extra glass, and, seeing that her movements were followed by Slade, said: "Bernard, believe me, I did not plan it. I had no idea he was coming." "It makes not the slightest difference," he said instantly. "Mr. Slade and I have no quarrel. Please don’t worry about me." "You’re an awfully good sort," she said abruptly. "That is high praise from you," he said, with a little critical smile which showed he was not entirely the dupe of her maneuvers. She went into her bedroom, and, divesting herself of her apron, hung it in the closet. Then, going to her dressing-table, she drew the hatpin from the pin-cushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were there. The third one—the ring with the ruby—was gone! *CHAPTER III* Her first emotion was of irritation. "How stupid!" she said to herself, and, returning to her dressing-table, began to search among the silver and ivory boxes. All at once she stopped. She remembered with a vivid flash putting the pin through the three rings. She made no further search, but remained without moving, her fingers slowly tapping the table, her head inclined, her lips drawn in a little between her teeth, watching in the glass the crowded table reflected from the outer studio. In that gay party, one person was the thief—but which one? Each guest had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been in the kitchen. "Too much prinking, pretty lady," called out Garraboy, who, from where he was seated, could see her. "Not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered: "Why not? He’s shifty—who knows? Let me think." To gain time, she went slowly back to the kitchen, her head bowed, her thumb between her teeth. "Who has taken it?" She ran over the characters of her guests and their situations as she knew them. Strangely enough, with the exception of Beecher and Majendie, at each her mind stopped upon some reason that might explain a sudden temptation. "And even Majendie—if he is bankrupt or running away," she thought. "No, I shall find out nothing this way. That is not the important thing just now. The important thing is to get the ring back. But how?"