"Say it this way: if Mrs. Cheever or Miss Lille took it, Garraboy would probably know—"
"And Slade?" said Beecher.
"If Slade took it, we're losing our time. Aren't we?" said McKenna.
"McKenna, do you know?" said Gunther suddenly.
"Unless I am very much mistaken, I'll know in twenty-four hours," said McKenna, "I know this—who has the ring and when he had it, and this evening, about 5:30 in the afternoon, I ought to know from the gentleman in question, who pawned it—unless I learn sooner."
"Unless Garraboy confesses," said Beecher.
"Gentlemen," said McKenna, answering with a nod an assistant who opened the door at this moment, "I'm not given to boasting, but I'll risk this." He went to the desk, wrote a name on a card, sealed it in an envelope and handed it to Beecher. "That's the name of the person who took the ring. Keep it until it is found. That sounds like Sherlock Holmes, but there's one reason why I feel like being a little stagey; and I don't mind admitting to you that I got to it by deduction—honest deduction, though!"
"Why've you Garraboy here, then?" said Beecher, while the letter in his pocket seemed to radiate heat like an ember.
"Do you want to know?—you'll be surprised," said McKenna, going to the desk again. "Well, it's to convince myself that Garraboy had nothing to do with it."
"What!" exclaimed the two.