The next morning he was awakened by Gunther's abrupt hand.
"Up, up, you sluggard!"
He jumped out hastily and found it was almost half-past eight.
"Nice time to sleep," said Gunther sarcastically. "Have you forgotten a little visit we're to make to that sweet person, Mr. Garraboy? You've got just twenty-two minutes to beautify yourself and fill the inner being."
"If we're to see your charming friend, Mr. Garraboy," said Gunther half an hour later, as they were speeding for the congested, stirring, lower city, "we've got to nip our man before the opening of the Stock Exchange. Now let's hear what happened at Mrs. Kildair's last night."
The events in which Mrs. Bloodgood was concerned were sealed in confidence; but Beecher felt at liberty to recount to his friend the bare details of McKenna's visit as he had known them.
"What the deuce is behind it all?" said Gunther, puzzled. "I got McKenna on the wire and that's all he would tell me. What's the reason she wants to bottle up everything? What's her mix-up with Slade? Depend upon it, Ted, that woman knows more than we do—or why should she expect the ring to be returned? She's got a reason for that."
"If it's returned," said Beecher, "it's Mrs. Bloodgood who took it."
"Never! No woman ever got that ring out of the apartment—not alone; not a Mrs. Bloodgood, or a Nan Charters, or a Mrs. Cheever, or—" Suddenly he reflected. "Ted, there's one person I'd like to meet."
"Miss Lille?"