"It’s useless," said Beecher firmly. "I know that McKenna’s right. This explains everything," he continued, turning to the detective. "That’s why she acted so strangely "—he checked himself. "I saw Mrs. Kildair—took lunch with her—to-day—" "Did you find out whom she employed?" said McKenna quietly. Beecher opened his lips to answer in the affirmative, and stopped abruptly. For the first time, he realized that Mrs. Kildair had taken back the address. He rose nervously, frowning at the stupidity he would be forced to disclose. "By Jove, I am an ass!" he said, dropping his glance; and he related the scene in which Mrs. Kildair had first given him the address and then taken it away. "It’s not important, Mr. Beecher," said the detective pensively, his mind working behind the recital. "She didn’t give you the right address." "How do you know?" said Beecher, turning. "Because she recovered the paper as soon as she found out you were employing me," he answered; but his mind was still out of the room. He took out a pencil and began tapping his memorandum with quick, nervous jots. "Her mind worked pretty quick," he said. "Why do you want to know her detectives?" asked Gunther. "You see, the case is complicated," said McKenna, rousing himself. "I won’t go into her relations with Slade just now, but it’s quite evident to any one they were such that Mrs. Kildair prefers to lose the ring rather than to have it discovered how it came to her. See?" "I see," said Gunther. Beecher, silent, was turning over in his mind all the incidents of Slade’s and Mrs. Kildair’s conduct, striving to reach some explanation but the natural one that forced itself on him. "That’s why," continued McKenna, "I’d like to know, first, if the detectives are straight—can be depended upon; second, if they were told to make a search; and, third, if they were told not to find the ring." "But why not?" "Because, Mr. Gunther, whoever took that ring the second time didn’t take it on impulse or without a plan; whoever took it probably—I don’t say certainly—knew enough of its history to know that Slade gave it to Mrs. Kildair, and reckoned on the fact that she would not dare to make it public. See?" The corners of his eyes contracted suddenly, as though through the movement of propelling forward the quick, decisive glance. "Then you think," said Beecher slowly, "that she is—" "Look here, Mr. Beecher," said the detective quickly, "there is one thing no human being can ever say offhand; what says the Bible—the way of a man with a maid—well, make that woman in general. You don’t know, and I don’t know, what the situation is right there, and we may never know. All the same, we’re now started on solid ground; it may lead to something, and it may not, but what I want to know before we get much further is who and how many there that night knew or guessed Slade gave her the ring." "Of course," said Gunther. "But how—"