"A diamond and platinum ring."
"The price?"
"Eight hundred and fifty dollars."
"Thanks," said the operative and was out of the office before the manager could frame any additional inquiries.
When the Wood girl answered a rather imperative ring at the door of her apartment she was distinctly surprised at the identity of her caller, for she and Carr had agreed that it would not be wise for them to meet except by appointment in some out-of-the-way place.
"Dick!" she exclaimed. "What brings you here? Do you think it's safe?"
"Safe or not," replied the operative, entering and closing the door behind him. "I'm here and here I'm going to stay until I find out something. Where did you get the money to pay for that ring you bought at Tiffany's to-day?"
"Money? Ring?" echoed the girl. "What are you talking about?"
"You know well enough! Now don't stall. Come through! Where'd you get it?"
"An—an aunt died and left it to me," but the girl's pale face and halting speech belied her words.