“Then let him out, Annie.”
The door swung open, Carnac walked slowly into the night, and Tresco and Gentle Annie were alone.
The goldsmith heaved a sigh of relief. “Haaaah! Close thing, very close; but Benjamin was just one too many for him. You see, brains will come out on top. Kindly bolt the door, my dear.”
He picked up Carnac’s revolver, placed it on the table, sat down, wiped his brow, and again gave vent to another sigh of relief.
“My dear, it’s brought on my usual complaint—desperate thirst. Phaugh! a low-lived man, and in this house, too! In the house of my little woman, curse him!”
Gentle Annie placed a glass and a bottle before him, and the goldsmith drank.
“What’s that about a ring, my dear? Did I understand he had given you a ring?”
The girl took the precious diamond from her finger, and handed it to Tresco.
“Why, it’s my own work—I recognise the setting; I remember the stone. Thirty pounds that ring is worth; thirty pounds, if a penny. Did he steal it, or buy it, I wonder?”
“Bought it, he said.”