Nothing But the Truth

Bob tried his best. He let the other name the game and the number of points, and for a time it was nip and tuck. Once Bob ran a string of seventy. Then the hammer-thrower made one hundred and one. His playing was brilliant. Some of the heaviness seemed to have departed from his big frame. His steps nearly matched Bob’s for litheness while his big fingers handled the cue almost daintily. All the inner force of the man seemed focused on the task of winning. He had made up his mind he couldn’t lose. Bob was equally determined, too, not to lose.

The game seemed symbolical of that bigger game they were playing as adversaries, and more and more Bob realized here was an opponent not to be despised. He was resourceful, delicate, subtle, as he permitted Bob now to gaze behind that shield of heaviness. He had never before exhibited his real self at the table, playing heretofore in ponderous fashion, but this time, perhaps, he experienced a secret delight in tantalizing an enemy. Those big fingers seemed capable of administering a pretty hard squeeze when the hour arrived; they might even not hesitate at a death-clutch. The game now was very close.

“Shall we make it a thousand for the winner?” suggested the hammer-thrower.

“Haven’t that much,” said Bob. “Only got about seven dollars and a half, or so.”

“I’ll bet you seven dollars and a half, then.”

Bob accepted, and immediately had a run of luck. He was within two points of being out. The hammer-thrower had about fifty to go.

“Get that seven dollars and a half ready,” he said easily as he began his play.

“Maybe I shan’t have to,” replied Bob.

“Yes, you will.” He spoke as one not capable of making mistakes about what he could do. And he didn’t make a mistake this time. He ran out. Bob paid with as good grace as he could. Then the hammer-thrower moved heavily away and left Bob alone.

The latter didn’t feel quite so jubilant now over his secret knowledge as he had a little earlier. The hammer-thrower had permitted him to test his mettle – indeed, he had deliberately put himself out to do so, and make Bob realize even more thoroughly that he might just about as well not know anything for all the good it would do him (Bob). His lips might as well be sealed, as far as his being able to prove anything; if he did speak, people would answer as the hammer-thrower had. “Mad!” Or worse! That sanatorium incident was certainly unfortunate.

Bob put his hand in his pocket to get his handkerchief to wipe a few drops of perspiration from his brow. He drew out his handkerchief, but he also drew out something else – something hard – that glittered-a ring – a beautiful one – with perfect blue white diamonds – a ring he remembered having seen on certain occasions adorning one of Miss Gerald’s fingers.

Bob stared at it. He stood like one frozen to the spot. That hammer-man had done more than beat him at billiards. While he (Bob) had extended a portion of his person over the table to execute difficult shots the other had found it an easy trick to slip Miss Gerald’s ring in the coat-tail pocket of Bob’s garment. Could you exceed that for diabolical intention? Now what on earth was Bob to do with Miss Gerald’s ring?

He couldn’t keep it and yet he didn’t want to throw away her property. It seemed as if he would be forced to, though. After an instant’s hesitation he made up his mind that he would toss it out of the window and then write her anonymously where it could be found. The hammer-man hadn’t calculated Bob would discover it on his person so soon, or perhaps he had told himself the odds were against Bob’s discovering it at all. He would, of course, have preferred that others should discover it on Bob. The latter now strode to the window; the glittering ring seemed fairly to burn his fingers. He raised the curtain as softly as he could – the window was already open – and then suddenly started back.

The light from within, shining on the garden, revealed to him with disconcerting abruptness a man’s face. The man sprang back with considerable celerity, but not before Bob had recognized in him that confounded maniac-medico. He had tracked Bob here, but not wishing to create a scene among Mrs. Ralston’s guests, was no doubt waiting outside with his assistants and the first time Bob stepped out of the house, he expected to nab him. All the while Bob had been playing billiards, that miserable maniac-medico had probably been spying upon him, peeping from under the curtain.

Bob moved from the window, the ring still in his fingers, and at this inopportune moment, the monocle-man walked in. He seemed to have timed his coming to a nicety. Perhaps he had noticed that little episode at the window. Bob, in a panic, thrust the ring hurriedly into his waistcoat pocket and tried to face the other without showing undue agitation, but he feared guilt was written all over his countenance.

“Hot,” muttered Bob. “Thought a breath of fresh air would do me good.”

“Quite so. We English believe in plenty of fresh air,” returned the monocle-man, just as if he swallowed the reason the other had given for going to the window.

But after that Bob couldn’t get rid of him. It was as if he knew something was wrong and that Bob needed watching. He began to fool with the balls, telling how hard it was for him to get accustomed to these small American tables. The British game was far better, he went on, all the while keeping his eyes pretty closely on Bob, until the latter got desperate and went back to where people were. But the monocle-man went, too. By this time Bob was convinced the other knew what was in his pocket. “Caught with the goods!” That’s the way the yellow press would describe his predicament.

“Aren’t you the regular hermit-crab?” It was the temperamental little thing’s reproachful voice that at this point broke in upon his sorrowful meditations, and Bob turned to her quickly. At the moment he was awfully glad she had come up. “What have you been doing?” she went on.

“Oh, just rolling the balls. Will you dance?” Eagerly.

“Can’t! Engaged. You should have asked me sooner and not run away.” Then perhaps she saw how disappointed Bob looked or caught that desperate expression in his eyes, for she added: “Yes, I will. Can say I was engaged to you first and forgot. Come on.”

Bob did. He was a little afraid the monocle-man might not let him, but the other permitted him to dance. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done so if he had known what was in Bob’s mind. That young man felt as if he had now truly reached his last ditch.

“Say, I’m in an awful hole,” he breathed to the temperamental little thing, as they glided over the floor.

“Are you?” She snuggled closer. “Anything worse than has been?”

“A heap worse! I’ve got something I simply must get rid of.”

“What is it?” she said in a thrilling whisper.

“A ring.” Hoarsely.

“No. Whose?”

“Miss Gerald’s.” More hoarsely still.

“How wildly exciting! Though I didn’t think you would rob her.” In an odd voice.

“I didn’t.”

“But you say you’ve got her ring?”

“Some one put it in my pocket.”

“Isn’t it the funny little hermit-crab, though!” she answered.

“Well, never mind whether you believe me or not. The point is, I’ve got to get rid of it and I can’t. That monocle-man is watching me. I need help.”

“Mine?” Snuggling once more.

“Yours. Will you do it?”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d go through fire and water for you? Am I not now your eternal and everlasting chum? Say it.”

“What?”

“That jolly-little-pal talk.”

“Jolly little pal!” he breathed in her ear.

She sighed happily. “Now what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to take this ring” – slipping it into her fingers – “and return it to Miss Gerald’s room. You can slip in without attracting any attention. Besides no one would think anything of your going in her room, even if you were seen doing so – you’re such friends.”

“But,” she said wonderingly, “I don’t see why you took it at all if – ” She broke off – “Unless that monocle-man knows you’ve got it on you?”

“That’s the point,” observed Bob hoarsely.

“All right,” she assented. “I’ll do it. When?”

“Now.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not until our dance is over. I want every bit of it. That’s – that’s my salary. My! I feel awful wicked with that ring in my hand. You can take a firmer hold of me if you want – the way you did that first day! I need reassuring!”

Bob laughed in spite of himself, but he reassured “jolly little pal,” in the manner indicated.

“Now just fly around,” she said.