“Only by contrast,” smiled the cavalier of the streets. “I shall have to find it myself, then?”
She made a move as though to spring from the sofa, but it was only a little move, for she knew her man, and he was standing just beside her. “You’re just a blamed fool,” was all she said.
“Don’t move, Betty,” he begged her gently. “Please don’t move. Because I don’t want to have to tie you up. All I want to do is to find that diamond-ring. It’s silly of you to put me to the trouble of having to look for it, but even so I shall give you half of whatever I get for it, for which you must thank my late mother for the way she brought me up.” He seemed to have fallen into a conversational vein; he heeded not the contemptuous sounds with which the pretty girl—now, alas! not so pretty as she had been—sought to disturb the even tenor of his conversation; and all the while his eyes were busy about the room, a largish and dingy bed-sitting-room, the bed being inadequately hidden in an alcove behind a frayed green curtain.
“You see, Betty dear,” he went on, “I have come to a point in my life when I must have money or bust. I am telling you this that you may know I shall not spend half your ill-gotten gains in riotous living. I am tired of riotous living, Betty. I am tired of my life, I am tired of England. And so I am going abroad, far abroad, and there I shall make a new start”—she tried frantically to jump up, but he caught her wrist and held it—“make a new start, as I was saying. You will not see me again for a long time, Betty, and when you do, you will see a rich and generous man, for I shall never forget that I owe you a good turn for the wrong I did you. But to go abroad and to begin an entirely new life I need money. And so,” and his eyes still wandered thoughtfully about the room, “I must find your diamond-ring, sell it for you, and keep half the proceeds as commission....”
“Even if it was here,” jeered the pretty girl, “you’d never find it. You think you’re the only clever one in the world, don’t you?” But there was not much conviction in her voice.
“No, I’ve always said you had brains, Betty. You are no fool; and I shall conduct my investigations on those premises. But don’t move—” and his hand fell sharply on her wrist again, while his eyes still thoughtfully embraced every corner of the room. “Now, if you were a fool, where would you hide a stolen diamond-ring so that your maid would not find it? You would hide it in a far corner of a drawer, or under a pile of linen, or you would sew it into the lining of a dress, or bury it in a hole in the floor—in fact, Betty dear, if you were a fool you would hide that diamond-ring in some secret place which any char-woman or detective searching this room would find at once. But you are not a fool. Now, if you are a student of Edgar Allan Poe, which I doubt, you will remember his tale about a young Frenchman called Duval, or Dupin, I forget which, who found a purloined letter, after the Paris police had searched in vain for it for weeks, in the most obvious place in the robber’s house: which was, of course, the letter-rack. Now what, I ask myself, is the most obvious place in this room in which to hide a stolen diamond-ring? The answer at once leaps to my mind, my eyes wander to a dilapidated-looking arm-chair a few yards away and fix on a hand-bag which is lying in the seat thereof. It is a pretty hand-bag, unpretentious but decorative; and a diamond-ring in your hand-bag would be quite safe from the prying fingers of your maid or char-woman for the simple reason that she has long ago given up hoping that she will find any money in it. But I am neither your maid nor your char-woman, and—oh!” She had bitten the hand that held her wrist, and only by a very quick effort did he restrain her from reaching the arm-chair on which lay the hand-bag. “Allow me,” he said politely, nursing his hand. “I will get it for you.” Swiftly he got it—and the diamond-ring lay in his open palm.
All fight had left the pretty girl; she sat listlessly on the sofa and gave way to her misery.
“Oh, you beast, you beast!” she kept whispering between dry sobs.
The cavalier of the streets stared at the stone in his hand. It winked and glittered, a bright white light on a dingy palm in a dingy room, arrogantly daring the eye with its innumerable carats. He whistled softly, in wonder. “And they say,” he murmured, “that diamonds aren’t fashionable nowadays!”
From the diamond in his palm he looked at the bowed head of the girl. He said harshly: