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When the last carriage had driven away, the two ladies went with Mr. Farnsworth and a quiet, gentlemanlike-looking man in morning dress, who appeared from the regions of the men’s dressing-rooms upstairs, into close council in Mrs. Ellison’s boudoir.

“Try to remember,” said Mr. Farnsworth, kindly, to Gertrude, who had begun to look drawn and haggard at the end of a lengthy discussion among the four, “upon which finger of which hand you had put the ring when you began to show the emerald to those gentlemen.”

“Why,” said the girl, suddenly, “I had never put it on at all! I was holding it—so—between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, turned sidewise to catch the light, when I felt the blazing up of my aigrette. Then Mr. Oliver jumped up and snatched the burning thing out of my hair, and scorched his own hand in doing it. It was all over very quickly. But I was so startled, I did not think of the ring for some minutes; and when I did, to my horror it was gone.”

“Were there any servants behind or near you at the time, Miss Ellison?” said the quiet man in morning clothes.