‘Were we on the stage, I should embrace you!’ exclaimed Merton rapturously.
‘We are not on the stage,’ replied Miss Martin demurely. ‘And I have no occasion to congratulate myself. My plot did not come off; never had a look in. Do you want to be vaccinated? If so, shake hands,’ and Miss Martin extended her own hands ungloved.
‘I do not want to be vaccinated,’ said Merton.
‘Then don’t shake hands,’ said Miss Martin.
‘What on earth do you mean?’ asked Merton.
‘Look there!’ said the lady, lifting her hand to his eyes. Merton kissed it.
‘Oh, take care!’ shrieked Miss Martin. ‘It would be awkward—on the lips. Do you see my ring?’
Merton and Logan examined her ring. It was a beautiful cinque cento jewel in white and blue enamel, with a high gold top containing a pointed ruby.
‘It’s very pretty,’ said Merton—‘quite of the best period. But what is the mystery?’
‘It is a poison ring of the Borgias,’ said Miss Martin. ‘I borrowed it from Sir Josiah Wilkinson. If it scratched you’ (here she exhibited the mechanism of the jewel), ‘why, there you are!’