Stodger was left on guard at the Page place. My prisoner and I walked to a car and proceeded to police headquarters.
His attitude, naturally enough, was one of extreme dejection; nevertheless I tried to cheer him up—vainly—and when opportunity offered I also tried to get some light upon the ring episode.
"It does n't do for me to express an opinion one way or another as to your probable guilt or innocence, Maillot," I said at one time; "but I can tell you this much for your encouragement.
"Since the murder, several developments have turned up which convince me that there 's a deal more in the crime than either you or I can at present conceive. You can keep it in mind that I see more work ahead than I did immediately after quizzing you and Burke Wednesday morning.… By the way, that ring you slipped upon your finger this morning, whose is it?"
For a second he frowned with an air of trying to recall the incident. Suddenly his face cleared.
"Did you notice that?" he returned, with perfect composure. "It's mine—was my mother's wedding ring."
I was watching him intently. He met my regard with a level look.
"In the habit of wearing it?" I asked.
"Sometimes."
"See here," I came to the point with abrupt directness. "You appreciate quite as much as I do the significance of that broad band of gold on the middle finger of your right hand. Why did you put it there at such a time?"