Out of it rolled a flashing necklace and a confusion of smaller gems.
Marcia stifled an involuntary cry.
Nevertheless, she neither looked up nor delayed.
"Sorry to be so clumsy," she muttered, as she swiftly scooped up the jewels.
It was well she had made haste, for no sooner was the clasp on the box snapped and the treasure concealed beneath the floor than Sylvia returned, and a moment later came both Doctor Jared Stetson and Elisha Winslow.
"Mornin', Marcia," nodded the doctor. "'Lish happened to be in the office when your niece called up, an' hearin' you had a man patient, he thought mebbe he might be of use. What 'pears to be the trouble, sir?"
"I've done something to my right wrist."
"H—m—m! Keepin' your diagnosis private, I see. That's wise. A wrist can be broken, fractured, dislocated, or just plain sprained an' still pain like the deuce." With skilled hand, he pushed back the dripping sleeve.
"You're a mite water-logged, I notice," observed he. "Been overboard?"