“In short, this ring is merely a phenomenon which science has not yet explained!  That it can and will be explained is strictly up to us!  Once we understand its peculiar properties, we can mighty soon rescue Harry!”

And it was just then that a most extraordinary thing occurred.  It happened so very unexpectedly, so utterly without warning, that it makes me shaky to this day whenever I recall it.

From the gem on Charlotte’s finger—­or rather, from the air surrounding the ring—­came an unmistakable sound.  We saw nothing whatever; we only heard.  And it was clear, as loud and as startling as though it had occurred right in the room where we were discussing the situation.

It was the sharp, joyous bark of a dog.

XX

THE HOUSE OF MIRACLES

Looking back over what has just been written, I am sensible of a profound gratitude.  I am grateful, both because I have been given the privilege of relating these events, and because I shall not have to leave this wilderness of facts for someone else to explain.

Really, if I did not know that I shall have the pleasure of piecing together these phenomena and of setting my finger upon the comparatively simple explanation; if I had to go away and leave this account unfinished, a mere collection of curiosity-provoking mysteries, I should not speak at all.  I should leave the whole affair for another to finish, as it ought to be finished.

All of which, it will soon appear, I am setting forth largely in order to brace and strengthen myself against what I must now relate.

Before resuming, however, I should mention one detail which Harry was too modest to mention.  He was—­or is—­unusually good-looking.  I don’t mean to claim that he possessed any Greek-god beauty; such wouldn’t gibe with a height of five foot seven.  No; his good looks were due to the simple outward expression, through his features, of a certain noble inward quality which would have made the homeliest face attractive.  Selfishness will spoil the handsomest features; unselfishness will glorify.

Moreover, simply because he had given his word to Chick Watson that he would wear the ring, Harry took upon himself the most dangerous task that any man could assume, and he had lost.  But had he known in advance exactly what was going to happen to him, he would have stuck to his word, anyhow.  And since there was a sporting risk attached to it, since the thing was not perfectly sure to end tragically, he probably enjoyed the greater part of his experience.

But I’m not like that.  Frankly, I’m an opportunist; essentially, a practical sort of fellow.  I have a great admiration for idealists, but a much greater admiration for results.  For instance, I have seldom given my word, even though the matter is unimportant; for I will cheerfully break my word if, later on, it should develop that the keeping of my word would do more harm than good.