ht like this.
I'm discouraged. I want to get out of this blasted country. I'm
hoodooed." Killigrew walked the floor. He took out a cigar, eyed it
thoughtfully, and returned it to his pocket. "Because they happen to
be born in this smoke, they think the way they do things is the last
word on the subject. I'd like to show them."
"Dad,"--with a bit of a smile,--"I know what the trouble is. You want
to go home."
"And that's the truth. This is the first trip abroad I ever took with
you and your mother, and it's going to be the last. I can't live out
of my element, which is hurry and bustle and getting things done
quickly. I'm a fish out of water. I want to go home; I want to see
the Giants wallop the Cubs; and I want my two-weeks' bass fishing. But
I'll hang on till the end of June as I promised. Ten thousand in
sapphires you couldn't match in a hundred years, and Molly coming in
banged up like a prize-fighter! . . . Someone at the door."
It proved to be Crawford.
"Glad you got back safely," he said relievedly.
"Had her necklace stolen," replied Killigrew briefly.
"You don't mean to say. . . ."
Kitty recounted her amazing adventure.
"And my wife's ruby is gone." Crawford made the disclosure simply. He
was a quiet man; he had learned the futility of gestures, of wasting
words in lamentation.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Kitty.
"The windows of the cab were down. I stood outside, smoking to pass
the time. Suddenly I heard Mrs. Crawford cry out. A hand had reached
in from the off side, clutched the pendant, twisted it off, and was
gone. All quicker than I can tell it. I tried to give chase, but it
was utter folly. I couldn't see anything two feet away. Mrs. Crawford
is a bit knocked up over it. Rather sinister stone, if its history is
a true one: the Nana Sahib's ruby, you know. For the jewel itself I
don't care. I never liked to see her wear it."
Killigrew threw up his hands. "And this is the London you've been
bragging about to me! How much was the ruby worth?"
"Don't know; nobody does. It's one of those jewels you can't set a
price on. He will not be able to dispose of it in its present shape.
He'll break it up and sell the pieces, and that's the shame of it.
Think of the infernal cleverness of the man! Two or three hundred
vehicles stalled in the street, fog so thick you couldn't see your hand
before your face. Simple game for a man with ready wit. And the
police bus
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