as such an innocent air on
the street, took my place and promenaded up and down the block, just
to see that Mr. Moore did not make too much trouble. And it was
well she did so, for though he was not at home,--I had chosen the
hour of his afternoon ride, his new man-servant was; and he no sooner
perceived this crowd of urchins making for the opposite house than
he rushed at them, and would have scattered them far and wide in a
twinkling if the demure dimples of my little ally had not come into
play and distracted his attention so completely as to make him
forget the throng of unkempt hoodlums who seemed bound to invade
his master's property. She was looking for Mr. Moore's house, she
told him. Did he know Mr. Moore, and his house which was somewhere
near? Not his new, great, big house, where the horrible things
took place of which she had read in the papers, but his little old
house, which she had heard was soon to be for rent, and which she
thought would be just the right size for herself and mother. Was
that it? That dear little place all smothered in vines? How
lovely! and what would the rent be, did he think? and had it a
back-yard with garden-room enough for her to raise pinks and
nasturtiums? and so on, and so on, while he stared with delighted
eyes, and tried to put in a word edgewise, and the boys--well,
they went through that strip of grass in just ten minutes. My
brave little Jinny had just declared with her most roguish smile
that she would run home and tell her mother all about this sweetest
of sweet little places, when a shout rose from the other side of
the street, and that collection of fifteen or twenty boys scampered
away as if mad, shouting in joyous echo of the boy at their head:

"It's to be chicken, heaping plates of ice cream and sponge cake."

By which token she knew that the ring had been found.

* * * * *

When they brought this ring to me I would not have exchanged places
with any man on earth. As Jinny herself was curious enough to
stroll along about this time, I held it out where we both could see
it and draw our conclusions.

It was a plain gold circlet set with a single small ruby. It was
cut through and twisted out of shape, just as I had anticipated;
and as I examined it I wondered what part it had played and was
yet destined to play in the drama of Veronica Jeffrey's mysterious
life and still more mysterious death. That it was a factor of some