In the studio the same stony silence was maintained. Through the open doors that led to the antechamber Slade reappeared, hesitated a moment as if to reenter the studio, then bowed and went out. Behind him the detective was seen waiting. Garraboy rose and immediately passed into the back. Mrs. Bloodgood had taken her seat apart, staring ahead as though by a difficult process of mental control, for at times her glance, despite the consciousness of her husband’s espionage, flashed over to where Majendie was impatiently following the movements of the clock. When Garraboy’s search had ended, he followed the precedent of Slade, bowed without speaking, and departed; while Bloodgood, guarding the same silence, passed into the dining-room. Maud Lille succeeded Mrs. Cheever, who returned in the same state of agitation that she had shown from the beginning. She started to approach her husband, when Mrs. Kildair’s controlled voice was heard: "Not there, please, Mrs. Cheever. Kindly sit at this side of the room with Mrs. Bloodgood." Mrs. Cheever flushed instantly, and sank, or rather collapsed, in the chair which had been indicated. All at once there came another ring, followed by two or three impatient taps on the outer door. There was a sudden stir in the room, where all nerves were clearly on the edge, and Mrs. Cheever gave a little scream. "I’ll answer," said Cheever, rising. "Wait," said Mrs. Kildair. She started toward the door, and then, changing her mind, as if unwilling to relax her surveillance of events in the studio, stopped. "Mr. Beecher, please," she said thoughtfully. "See who it is." And she moved slightly toward the half-drawn portières, to hear and at the same time to be concealed. Garraboy was outside, a coat on his arm. "Excuse me," he said, without emotion. "I took the wrong coat. Stupid of me. Just found it out." "It looks like mine," said Beecher, examining it. "Probably is," said Garraboy, who extracted another coat of similar appearance from the rack, plunged into his pockets and nodded. "Sure enough. Sorry. Good night." So thoroughly disagreeable an impression had the broker produced upon Beecher that, in a moment of suspicion, moved by an incredible thought, he ran his hands hastily through the pockets. "I shouldn’t have been surprised," he grumbled to himself, and returned to the studio, where the conversation had been overheard. The search continued, ended, and, as all expected, no trace of the ring was found. Mrs. Kildair excused herself, evidently maintaining her calm with difficulty. The guests, murmuring inarticulate phrases, took their wraps, and young Beecher found himself shortly in a coupé beside Nan Charters.