My muscles relaxed.
"Do not commit any rash action, Mr. Comstalk," said the girl, smiling bravely into my eyes. "This gentleman would not appreciate it."
The master rogue picked up the ring and rolled it lovingly about his palms.
"Beautiful, beautiful!" he murmured. "Finest pigeon-blood, too. It is easily worth a thousand. Shall I give you my note of exchange for it?"—humorously. The girl scorned to reply. He took out a little chamois bag and emptied its contents on the table. How they sparkled, scintillated, glowed; thousands in the whitest of stones! How he ever had got his fingers on them is something I shall never learn. "Aren't they just beautiful?" he asked naïvely. "Can you blame me for coveting them?" He set the ruby on top of the glittering heap. It lay there like a drop of blood. Presently he caught it up and—presented it to the girl, who eyed him in astonishment. "I only wanted to look at it," he said courteously. "I like your grit as much as I admire your beauty. Keep the ring."
She slipped it mechanically over her finger.
"But you, my dear Mr. Comstalk!" he cried, turning his shining eyes upon me, while his fingers deftly replaced the gems in the bag.
"I have no jewelry," I replied, tossing aside the cigarette.
"But you have something infinitely better. I am rather observant. In Friard's curio-shop you carelessly exhibited a wallet that was simply choking to death with long yellow-boys. You have it still. Will you do me the honor?"—stretching out his slim white hand.
I looked at William; he nodded. There wasn't the slightest chance for me to argue. So I drew out my wallet. I extracted the gold-bills and made a neat little packet of them. It hurt, hurt like the deuce, to part with them. But—!
"Game, William, isn't he? Most men would have flung the wallet at my head."