"Well, if you really want to know," he said, "I came to borrow some money—on these rings."
And he opened his left hand and showed the detective the two rings which he had taken from his trunk—not half-an-hour before.
"Your property?" asked Ayscough.
"Of course they're my property!" exclaimed Lauriston. "Whose else should they be?"
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 mantelpiece 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—"
