Archie listened quietly and did not interrupt, but the puzzled look on his face grew more pronounced.
“Well,” ended Random, seeing that no remark was made when he had finished, “what do you think?”
“Lord knows! I'll go out of my mind if these sort of things come along. I am a simple sort of chap, and have no use for mysteries which beat all the detective stories I have ever read. That sort of thing is all very well in fiction, but in real life—humph! What are you going to do?”
“Give back the emerald to Don Pedro.”
“Of course, though, it is given to you for a wedding present. And then?”
“Then”—Random stared into the fire—“I don't know. I asked you in to assist me.”
“Willingly; but how?”
Random pondered for a few moments.
“Who sent that emerald to me, do you think?” he asked, looking squarely at the artist.
Hope meditatively turned the jewel in his long fingers.
“Why not ask Mrs. Jasher?” he suggested suddenly.
“No!” Sir Frank shook his head. “I fancied it might be her, but it cannot be. If she is guilty—as she must be, should she have sent the emerald—she would not part with her plunder when she is so hard up. I am beginning to believe, Hope, that what she said was true about the letter.”
“How do you mean exactly?”