"What thing—what do you mean?"
"That Mr. Garraboy went off with your coat by mistake."
"Yes, Mr. Beecher," said McKenna, shaking his head, "by not telling me that one detail, you've made a fool out of me."
"Then, Garraboy took it!" said Beecher, his face lighting up with a smile of triumph.
"Garraboy took it, planted it in your pocket and then faked the ring at the table. The ring was returned through a woman who guessed it and had it restored. Her name is a secret, but you are at liberty to guess."
"Miss Lille," said Beecher to himself. This dénouement, which coincided so closely with his own divination, completely convinced him.
"If you've no further use for me," said McKenna, with the same hang-dog look, "I'll be going. Another time I hope to serve you better."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Kildair, who contrived to add to the words a little smile, comprehensible only to the detective.
"Permit me to give you my profound congratulations," said McKenna, taking her hand with a bow that made Beecher open his eyes in wonder. "I wish you every success."
"Au revoir, McKenna," said Mrs. Kildair, still smiling.