"Yes."
"What do you know about it yourself, Frank?"
"Not much," was the serious reply. "You know I once told you that my father was much away from home, traveling in the West, where he claimed to have business interests, and it was not till after his death that we knew what his business actually was—that of a note broker—with a passion for gambling?"
"Yes, I remember all this."
"In his wanderings, father somehow got hold of that ring, and it is pretty certain that he considered it very valuable, for he sent it to mother, and wrote her to guard it faithfully, and not to let it part from her on any consideration. He said that he would come for it some day; but he never did. When mother died, she gave me the ring, telling me to keep it always. That is as much of the ring's history as is known to me."
"And that is just enough to make the thing a decided mystery. I have heard of magic rings used by East Indian fakirs and magicians. Perhaps this is one of those rings."
Frank smiled a bit, and shook his head.
"Hardly that, I think," he said. "From its appearance, I should say this ring was made by some crude workman in the West."
"In, that case, what can there be about it that is mysterious or valuable?"
"You have asked me something I cannot answer."