"You give me the amount," said McKenna with a click of his teeth. "I'll get it. He knows, I guess, by this time what a pretty little story it would make in the morning papers. He won't resist—not he!"
"Look here," said Beecher excitedly, putting his hand to his pocketbook. "By Jove, that's lucky. I've still got that order. I can telephone her now—"
"Telephone nothing," said McKenna, reaching out his hand. "I don't need that order, except as a reference. Just keep it quiet. The young lady won't thank you less for your saving her without her knowledge, will she?"
"No," said Beecher, flurried. "Here's the order. When'll you get at Garraboy?"
"In about ten minutes," said McKenna, reaching over for a fresh cigar.
"Here?"
"Right here."
"And the ring?" asked Gunther quickly.
"What do you think?" said McKenna, his little eyes snapping through the blaze of the match as he lighted his cigar.
"I think it lies between Mrs. Cheever, Miss Lille and Garraboy," said Gunther; "either woman took it and either passed it to Garraboy at the table—"