Ayscough's glance wandered from the rings to a table which stood, a little
to one side, in the middle of the parlour. Lauriston turned in that
direction, also. Two objects immediately met his eye. On the table stood a
small tray, full of rings--not dissimilar in style and appearance to those
which he held in his hand: old-fashioned rings. The light from the gas-
brackets above the mantel-piece caught the facets of the diamonds in those
rings and made little points of fire; here and there he saw the shimmer of
pearls. But there was another object. Close by the tray of old rings lay a
book--a beautifully bound book, a small quarto in size, with much
elaborate gold ornament on the back and side, and gilt clasps holding the
heavy leather binding together. It looked as if some hand had recently
thrown this book carelessly on the table.

But Ayscough gave little, if any, attention to the book: his eyes were
fixed on the rings in the tray--and he glanced from them to Lauriston's
rings.

"Um!" he said presently. "Odd that you have a couple of rings, young man,
just like--those! Isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Lauriston, flushing scarlet. "You don't
suggest--"

"Don't suggest anything--just now," answered the detective, quietly. "But
you must stop here with me, until I find out more. Come to the door--we
must have help here."

Lauriston saw there was nothing to do but to obey, and he followed
Ayscough to the street door. The detective opened it, looked out, and
waiting a few minutes, beckoned to a policeman who presently strolled