McKenna, who had heard the last words, entered, vitally alert and physically excited by the joy of unusual labor.
"Now I'm with you," he said, appropriating an easy-chair. "Let's see where we'll begin. Oh, Mr. Beecher, you wanted certain information about that broker Garraboy, didn't you?"
"What have you found out?" said Beecher, with a conscious eagerness that struck both hearers.
"It just so happened I had a line on your man from another direction," said McKenna. "Well, he's hit the market right. What would have happened if this panic hadn't come just right, is another question—a rather interesting question. However, Garraboy's known to have been heavy on the short side, and, from all reports, stands to make a killing."
"Then Miss Charters' stocks are all right?"
"They're all right—yes—now," said McKenna carefully; "but my advice is to get hold of them—P.D.Q. Mr. Garraboy is somewhat of a gambler. Now, here's a bit of history about a certain ruby that will interest you," he continued, drawing out a memorandum. In his manner was a little amused self-satisfaction, as one who relished the mystification of the outsiders. "In the first place, your ruby ring is not worth fifteen thousand."
"No?" said Beecher in amazement.
"It's worth considerably more," said the detective, with a grin. "Its last sale was at the price of thirty-two thousand dollars."
"What!" said both young men in chorus.
"Just that."