After graduation, he had gone West on a ranch with several of his classmates, for the pure love of adventure and the delights of the great open spaces. Having thus begun his education, he continued it by knocking about the world, with periodic excursions in search of big game. He had known a great many types of men without knowing them in the least, and he appealed to all women without being deeply impressionable to their influence. His philosophy of life was very well summed up in a remark he had made on his return to New York—that he would probably go to work if he couldn’t find anything better to do. When he awoke the day after Rita Kildair’s party, it was with the clear and dispassionate vision of the morning. The dramatic occurrences of the night before flashed instantly into his consciousness, arousing all the energy of his young curiosity. He recalled the promise to solve the mystery he had made in a moment of enthusiasm, and with a renewed zest began to consider how he should prove himself. Several things immediately rose up to perplex him in the strange and dramatic climaxes at which he had assisted—the twisted undercurrents of which he was still completely ignorant. Why had Garraboy, and then Rita Kildair, adopted an attitude of suspicion toward him when he had returned? For Garraboy’s hostility he found a ready answer in the mutual antagonism that had risen from the first exchange of glances; but the reception he had received at the hands of Mrs. Kildair thoroughly mystified him. "Of course, if the ring wasn’t found in the search," he said, getting out of bed and ringing for his man, "it’s got to be in the studio; of course—no way around that. Whoever took it the second time didn’t get much opportunity to hide it, either—unless it was hidden after the candle was lit; there was a chance then—every one was stumbling around. By Jove! I believe that’s how it was done. But then, why the deuce should more than one person return?" He stopped and suddenly remembered his own return. "That’s so; a man might come back to offer help. But why a woman? And who the deuce came back after I did—Miss Lille or Mrs. Bloodgood?" At this moment the door opened on Charles, whom he had inherited with one half of the luxurious apartment from Freddie Duyckerman, who had gone to England for the hunting season. "Your bath is ready, sir," he said, standing with that perfectly vacuous expression which had been carefully trained to express neither joy, grief, hilarity, nor the natural surprise which he might have experienced at beholding his master, brush in hand, standing absent-mindedly before a great copper platter that was near the window. "Telephone up to the stables; I’ll take Judy to-day," said Beecher, passing into the bathroom.