"It was cleverly worked out," said McKenna grimly, "and no risk. He had his wits about him. Sounding another ring on the table to limit the search to the studio was quick thinking. Planting it in Beecher's coat was better. Even if he were caught with it on, he could pretend amazement, a natural mistake. And if not, it was a clean getaway," he added ruefully. "All the same, I wish I'd known that detail."
"For the rest you were right. Mapleson loaned me the money. He is an old acquaintance, and I have once or twice," she said carelessly, "rendered him important services. He did telephone me ten minutes before you came. I staked everything I had in the market. I doubled my losses. Is there any other point?"
"Your having the detectives stay was, of course, a blind?"
"Of course. I called Miss Charters and Garraboy on purpose. To this day I wonder who he thinks got the ring from him."
"He suspects," said McKenna.
"Probably," she said carelessly. Then she turned on him. "Now, McKenna, answer me a question."
"Which one?"
"It's a thing I want to know," she said, with a sudden shade of dread creeping over her face. "It is one of those fatalities in life that are so terrible. Majendie killed himself because he thought the detectives on his track had a warrant for his arrest. Weren't they, in fact, your men, simply placed there to record his movements for Slade?"
"Mrs. Slade," said McKenna, not noticing the slip, "you have just given me a profound confidence. Would you trust in my power to keep it, if, supposing I knew anything, I should tell you? Ask your husband himself and tell me yourself. I am curious also."
Mrs. Kildair, who saw in the politic evasion a feminine answer, nodded and drew back with a shudder.