ch
as I do sickness and death, and these young people--well, their lives
are all before them, and neither Mrs. Burton nor myself would wish to
throw the shadow of a false suspicion over any one of them."

I assured her that I sympathised with her scruples, and would do my best
to recover the ruby without inflicting undue annoyance upon the
innocent. Then I inquired whether it was known that a detective had been
called in. She seemed to think it was suspected by some, if not by all.
At which my way seemed a trifle complicated.

We were about to proceed when another thought struck me.

"Madam, you have not said whether the carriage itself was searched."

"I forgot. Yes, the carriage was thoroughly overhauled before the
coachman left the box."

"Who did this overhauling?"

"My son. He would not trust any one else in a business of this kind."

"One more question, madam. Was any one seen to approach Mr. Deane on the
carriage-drive prior to his assertion that the jewel was lost?"

"No. _And there were no tracks in the snow of any such person._ My son
looked."

And I would look, or so I decided within myself, but I said nothing; and
in silence we proceeded toward the drawing-room.

I had left my overcoat behind me, and always being well dressed, I did
not present so bad an appearance. Still, I was not in party attire, and
naturally could not pass for a guest even if I had wanted to, which I
did not. I felt that I must rely on insight in this case, and on a
certain power I had always possessed of reading faces. That the case
called for just this species of intuition I was positive. Mrs. Burton's
ruby was within a hundred yards of us at this very moment, probably
within a hundred feet; but to lay hands on it and without scandal--well,
that was a problem calculated to rouse the interest of even an old
police-officer like myself.

A strain of music--desultory, however, and spiritless, like everything
else about the place that night--greeted us as Mrs. Ashley opened the
door leading directly into the large front hall.

Immediately a scene meant to be festive, but which was, in fact,
desolate, burst upon us. The lights, the flowers, and the brilliant
appearance of such ladies as flitted into sight from the almost empty
parlours, were all suggestive of the cheer suitable to a great occasion;
but, in spite of this, the effect was altogether melancholy, for the
hundreds who should have graced this scene, and for whom this