The two had been discussing energetically, and the little difficult hesitation told him that he himself had been the subject of conversation.
"I'm called off on an important case," said McKenna. "Thought I'd better have an understanding with you first."
"What understanding?" he said. His eye was attracted by the heaped-up mail on a side table, and he moved over to examine it, with a curiosity, utterly illogical, to see if Miss Charters had written him.
"Mr. Beecher, I have a request to make of you," said McKenna quickly.
"What's that?"
"Don't open any letters or answer the telephone until I am gone."
"Why, yes; but—" He cut off with a look of interrogation.
"Pump it into him, Mac," said Gunther, throwing himself back and puffing forth great volumes of smoke.
"The truth is, Mr. Beecher," said McKenna, smiling, "Mrs. Kildair played us both to the queen's fashion."
"What was I to do?" said Beecher warmly. "Whom does the ring belong to, anyway? Is there any reason I should do what she doesn't want me to?"