o thick; that is, in places
there were holes and punctures. You saw a man's face and torso, but
neither hat nor legs. Again, you saw the top of a cab bowling along,
but no horse: phantasmally.

Breakfast in Crawford's suite was merry enough. Misfortune was turned
into jest. At least, they made a fine show of it; which is
characteristic of people who bow to the inevitable whenever confronted
by it. Crawford was passing his cigars, when a page was announced.
The boy entered briskly, carrying a tray upon which reposed a small
package.

"By special messenger, sir. It was thought you might be liking to have
it at once, sir." The page pocketed the shilling politely and departed.

"That's the first bit of live work I've seen anybody do in this hotel,"
commented Killigrew, striking a match.

"I have stopped here often," said Crawford, "and they are familiar with
my wishes. Excuse me till I see what this is."

The quartet at the table began chatting again, about the fog, what they
intended doing in Paris, sunshiny Paris. By and by Crawford came over
quietly and laid something on the table before his wife's plate.

It was the Nana Sahib's ruby, so-called.

CHAPTER III

That same morning, at eleven precisely (when an insolent west wind
sprang up and tore the fog into ribbons and scarves and finally blew it
into smithereens, channelward) there stood before the windows of a
famous haberdashery in the Strand a young man, twenty-four years of
age, typically English, beardless, hair clipped neatly about his neck
and temples, his skin fresh colored, his body carefully but thriftily
clothed. Smooth-skinned he was about the eyes and nose and mouth,
unmarked by dissipation; and he stood straight; and by the set of his
shoulders (not particularly deep or wide) you would infer that when he
looked at you he would look straight. Pity, isn't it, that you never
really can tell what a man is inside by drawing up your brief from what
he is outside. There is always the heel of Achilles somewhere; trust
the devil to find that.

Of course you wish to know forthwith who returned the ruby, and why.
As our statesmen say, regarding any important measure for public
welfare, the time is not yet ripe. Besides, the young man I am
describing had never heard of the Nana Sahib's ruby, unless vaguely in
some Sepoy Mutiny tale.

His expression at this moment was rather mournful. He was regretting
the thirty shillings the week he