don his ring any longer, and
hastened away to the spot where it was to be found.

He went along the same path, and soon came to an enclosure; but no
sooner had he entered it than he saw that he must have mistaken his way;
this was not the right place. There was no statue in the middle.

He was about to turn away, when he saw something that made him start; it
was a low pedestal in the centre, with the same characters upon it that
he had read with Ada. It was the place, after all; yes, he could not be
mistaken; he knew it now.

Where was the statue which had so lately occupied that pedestal? Had it
fallen over amongst the bushes? He felt about for it in vain. It must
have been removed for some purpose while he had been dancing; but by
whom, and why?

The best way to find out would be to ask some one in authority. The
manager was in the Baronial Hall, officiating as M.C.; he would go and
inquire whether the removal had been by his orders.

He was fortunate enough to catch him as he was coming out of the hall,
and he seized him by the arm with nervous haste. "Mister," he began,
"if you've found one of your plaster figures with a gold ring on, it's
mine. I--I put it on in a joking kind of way, and I had to leave it for
awhile; and now, when I come back for it, it's gone!"

"I'm sorry to hear it, sir," returned the manager; "but really, if you
will leave gold rings on our statues, we can't be responsible, you
know."

"But you'll excuse me," pursued Leander; "I don't think you quite
understood me. It isn't only the ring that's gone--it's the statue; and
if you've had it put up anywhere else----"

"Nonsense!" said the manager; "we don't move our statues about like
chessmen; you've forgotten where you left it, that's all. What was the
statue like?"

Leander described it as well as he could, and the manager, with a
somewhat altered manner, made him point out the spot where he believed
it to have stood, and they entered the grove together.

The man gave one rapid glance at the vacant pedestal, and then gripped
Leander by the shoulder, and looked at him long and hard by the feeble
light. "Answer me," he said, roughly; "is this some lark of yours?"

[Illustration: "ANSWER ME," HE SAID ROUGHLY; "IS THIS SOME LARK OF
YOURS?"]

"I look larky, don't I?" said poor Tweedle, dolefully. "I thought you'd
be sure to know where it was."

"I wish to heaven I did!" cried the manager, passionately; "it's those
impudent blackguard