Paul stood in the street irresolute. He looked hopelessly up and down Broadway, but of course the jeweler from Syracuse was not to be seen. Seeking for him in a city containing hundreds of streets and millions of inhabitants was about as discouraging as hunting for a needle in a haystack. But difficult as it was, Paul was by no means ready to give up the search. Indeed, besides the regret he felt at the loss, he was mortified at having been so easily outwitted.
“He's taken me in just as if I was a country boy,” thought Paul. “I dare say he's laughing at me now. I'd like to get even with him.”
Finally he decided to go to Tiffany's, and ask them to detain any one who might bring in the ring and offer it for sale. He at once acted upon this thought, and, hailing a Broadway stage, for no time was to be lost, soon reached his destination. Entering the store, he walked up to the counter and addressed the clerk to whom he had before shown the ring.
“Do you remember my offering you a diamond ring for sale this morning?” he asked.
“Yes, I remember it very well. Have you got it with you?”
“No, it has been stolen from me.”
“Indeed! How was that?” asked the clerk, with interest.
“I met in the cars a well-dressed man, who called himself a jeweler from Syracuse. He examined the ring, and offered me more than Mr. Tiffany, but asked me to bring it to him at Lovejoy's Hotel. When I got there, he drugged me with chloroform, and when I recovered he was gone.”
“You have been unlucky. There are plenty of such swindlers about. You should have been careful about displaying the ring before strangers.”
“I was showing it to a friend.”