“Can’t you remember the least thing about him?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“Where were the Crawfords?”

“I did not wait to see them.  My cab was ahead of theirs.  What shall we do?”

“Notify the police; it’s all we can do.  They cost me an even ten thousand, Kitty.  And I told you not to wear them on a night like this.  I’m discouraged.  I want to get out of this blasted country.  I’m hoodooed.”  Killigrew walked the floor.  He took out a cigar, eyed it thoughtfully, and returned it to his pocket.  “Because they happen to be born in this smoke, they think the way they do things is the last word on the subject.  I’d like to show them.”

“Dad,”—­with a bit of a smile,—­“I know what the trouble is.  You want to go home.”

“And that’s the truth.  This is the first trip abroad I ever took with you and your mother, and it’s going to be the last.  I can’t live out of my element, which is hurry and bustle and getting things done quickly.  I’m a fish out of water.  I want to go home; I want to see the Giants wallop the Cubs; and I want my two-weeks’ bass fishing.  But I’ll hang on till the end of June as I promised.  Ten thousand in sapphires you couldn’t match in a hundred years, and Molly coming in banged up like a prize-fighter! . . .  Someone at the door.”

It proved to be Crawford.

“Glad you got back safely,” he said relievedly.

“Had her necklace stolen,” replied Killigrew briefly.

“You don’t mean to say. . . .”

Kitty recounted her amazing adventure.

“And my wife’s ruby is gone.”  Crawford made the disclosure simply.  He was a quiet man; he had learned the futility of gestures, of wasting words in lamentation.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Kitty.

“The windows of the cab were down.  I stood outside, smoking to pass the time.  Suddenly I heard Mrs. Crawford cry out.  A hand had reached in from the off side, clutched the pendant, twisted it off, and was gone.  All quicker than I can tell it.  I tried to give chase, but it was utter folly.  I couldn’t see anything two feet away.  Mrs. Crawford is a bit knocked up over it.  Rather sinister stone, if its history is a true one:  the Nana Sahib’s ruby, you know.  For the jewel itself I don’t care.  I never liked to see her wear it.”

Killigrew threw up his hands.  “And this is the London you’ve been bragging about to me!  How much was the ruby worth?”

“Don’t know; nobody does.  It’s one of those jewels you can’t set a price on.  He will not be able to dispose of it in its present shape.  He’ll break it up and sell the pieces, and that’s the shame of it.  Think of the infernal cleverness of the man!  Two or three hundred vehicles stalled in the street, fog so thick you couldn’t see your hand before your face.  Simple game for a man with ready wit.  And the police busy at the two ends of the block, trying to