“Are you sure you are not mistaken? There are many ruby rings in the world.”
“I don’t for one moment think that I am mistaken,” answered Lionel deliberately. “If the ring worn by Janvard be the one I mean, it has three initial letters engraved inside the hoop. What particular letters they are I cannot now recollect. I chanced to express my admiration of the ring one night in the billiard-room, and Osmond took it off his finger in order that I might examine it. It was then I saw the letters, but without noticing them with sufficient particularity to remember them again.”
“I always had an idea,” said Tom, “that Janvard was in some way mixed up with the murder, and this would seem to prove it. He must have stolen the ring from Osmond’s room either immediately before or immediately after the murder.”
“I must see that ring,” said Lionel decisively. “It must come into my possession, if only for a minute or two, if only while I ascertain whether the initials are really there.”
“I don’t think that there will be much difficulty about that,” said Tom. “The fellow has no suspicion as to whom you really are, or as to the object of our visit to Bath. To admire the ring is the first step: to ask to look at it the second.”
A quarter of an hour later Lionel gripped Tom suddenly by the arm. “Bristow,” he whispered, “I have just remembered something. Osmond had that ruby ring on his finger the night before he was murdered! I have a distinct recollection of seeing it on his hand when we were playing that last game of billiards together.”
“If this ring,” said Tom, “prove to be the one you believe it to be, the finding of it will be another and a most important link in the chain of evidence.”
“Yes—almost, if not quite, the last one that we shall need,” said Lionel.
At dinner that evening Janvard in person took in the wine. The eyes of both Lionel and Tom fixed themselves instinctively on his left hand. The ring was no longer there.
“Can he suspect anything?” asked Lionel of Tom, as soon as they were alone.