'What is it you're talking about? Would you condescend to explain?'
'Yet--I do not understand. It was the box. Wait; in a second I will be back.'
She was back in less than a minute, bearing in her hand a small leather-covered box. On the lid was gummed a narrow strip of paper, on which was written, in delicate characters, 'The Burton Ruby.' Mr Burton received it with a cry of recognition.
'It's it; but the writing's strange.'
'It is her writing.'
'It's uncle's box--the one in which he always kept the blessed thing. There's his crest; there's where I dropped it in the ink.' He raised the lid. 'It's empty!'
'Last night Mr Holland took from it the ring which was inside. I always imagined that in it she kept your uncle's ruby, which was what I said to Mr Holland, as I told you I would do.'
'You're a nice girl, Lou!'
'And you're a nice man! Are you not a nice man?'
Mr Cox interposed.