"I hope so. He's a good chap otherwise."
"Good night, ma'am. Tell your husband to put that ruby in a safe deposit box."
"Oh, nobody knows the safe is there except Mr. Ruyler and myself—"
"There have been safes hidden behind bookcases before," said Spaulding dryly. "And crooks, like all the other pests of the earth, just drift naturally to this coast. If I were you I'd have a detective on hand whenever you wear that bit o' glass—not at a friendly affair like the Gwynnes' dinner, of course, but—"
"Good idea!" exclaimed Ruyler. "My wife will wear the ruby to the
Thornton fête on the fourteenth. Will you be on hand to guard it?"
"Won't I? About half our force is engaged for that blow-out, but no one but yours truly shall be guardian angel for the ruby. Well, good night once more, and good luck."
* * * * *
As soon as the detective had gone Ruyler drew his wife to him anxiously,
"What is it, Hélène? You look—well, you don't look yourself!"
"I have a headache," she said irritably. "Perhaps I'm developing nerves. I do wish you would take me to New York. Other women get away from this town once in a while."
"But you told me on Sunday that you adored California, that it was like fairy land—"