"Of course, every one believes what he chooses in such matters," he said. "Personally, knowing Majendie, I believe it's purely platonic—such things do happen. He has a sort of old-fashioned chivalry, you know. Bloodgood is a hard old nut, leads his own life—chorus girls' friend and all that—thirty years older than his wife—parents got her into it—and I shouldn't be surprised if he took advantage of the situation to touch up Majendie through the Atlantic Trust for a good-sized loan. The rumor was that Mrs. Bloodgood was to get a divorce. If so, it may have been held up by this rotten business. One thing's clear: she's crazy about Majendie, and doesn't care who sees it—poor devil. Well, let's get out."
They entered Lazare's, saluted by a sudden storm of clatter, music, and shrill laughter. Lazare himself, seeing Gunther, came up hurriedly, anxiety in his olive face, while several employees hovered near, with eager ears. Gunther exchanged again a few words on the financial situation, and led the way into the elevator.
"McKenna's a great one," he said. "Rather puzzled you, didn't he? There's no show about him—he's direct. You'll see the way he works. It'll be a revelation."
Beecher did not answer.
The disclosure of the relations of Majendie and Mrs. Bloodgood had suddenly recalled the suspicion that had come to him the night before, while following the agitation of Nan Charters; and he was asking himself, in a bewildered manner, if Mrs. Bloodgood, desperate, perhaps on the verge of a separation, had not in an uncontrollable moment taken the ring. Gunther continued in praise of McKenna:
"It's the organization that's wonderful. It's like a spider-web, and McKenna sits in the center and pulls the threads. What the public never gets is this—that half of the work's done before McKenna's on the case. He knows to-day where every forger is living, every cracksman. He's got his informers in every saloon, in every cheap hotel, where thugs congregate. If a bank's robbed, nine times out of ten he can tell in a day who's done the job, because he knows who's disappeared from his regular haunts. A detective agency is a great news bureau that never prints its news."
"I guess the case is more complicated than I thought," said Beecher, struck by the new lead. "It begins to look as though a whole lot of persons might have taken the ring."
"Thinking of Mrs. B?" said Gunther quickly.
"Yes," said Beecher meditatively. They were in the corridor leading to the private dining-rooms. He put his hand out and checked his companion.
"I say, who's Madame Fornez?"