that
jewel-case and her bedroom door at the Cecil unlocked.

But upon sending that replica to the experts to supplement the
description of the missing ruby, she was told that an absurd mistake had
been made. This, the supposed "copy," was none other than the celebrated
ruby itself!

"And she didn't know her own property?" Vi Vassity's loud, cheerful
voice resounded through the hall. "Why, the old girl will be the
laughing-stock of London!"

"Yes. I think Mrs. Rattenheimer realises that herself," said Mr.
Reginald Brace. "That is why she and her husband now intend to hush the
matter up as much as possible; they do not mean to prosecute inquiries
as to who took the replica."

"Don't they think we done that, then?" asked Miss Million loudly.

"They are dropping all inquiries," said Mr. Brace.

"Then I've a good mind to sue 'em for libel for the inquiries they made
already," said Million heatedly. "I shall consult my----"

Here there was another ring at the bell.

"Talk of angels!" exclaimed my young mistress, as I opened the door to a
second masculine figure in a dripping rain-coat, "why here he is, just
the very person I was going to pass the remark about! It's my cousin
Hiram!" And it was that young American who strode into the feeble light
of the oil-lamps in the hall.

"I guess I must have been just a few yards behind you before I took the
wrong turning to these antediluvian river-courses that they call roads,"
said Mr. Hiram P. Jessop to Mr. Brace, while he held Million's little
hand with great tenderness. "Good evening, Cousin Nellie and everybody.
If I may shed this damp macintaw, I've a few pieces of startling
news----"

"For the sake of Lloyd George himself, come into the dinin'-room and
let's have 'em while we're feeding," suggested Miss Vassity.

She grabbed an arm of each young man, and ran them into the room to the
right that always smells of country churches.

"Part of the news concerns Miss Smith," added Mr. Jessop, over the
upholstery of his shoulder.

"Then in the name of the Insurance Act let's all sit down together and
hear it. Not so much nonsense about 'the maid.' We'll pretend we're at
the 'Refuge,' and stretch for ourselves," decreed Vi Vassity, positively
pushing me, in my cap and apron, down into the dining-room chair next to
Mr. Reginald Brace in his correct tweeds.

"Now! One mouthful of tomato soup, and out with it--the news, I mean."

"To begin with, I guess they've found the