was a ring, and I found it, a valuable one, if I am not greatly mistaken.”
“You!” the doctor exclaimed, nearly dropping his paper in his excitement. “Why, then, didn’t you give it to the Police? What did you do with it?”
“Kept it, of course, doctor, until I found someone I could trust. There were several reasons why I didn’t hand it over to the Police. And, besides, I wanted to keep it myself until I found the man who killed Bill Haines and his wife, and then—” Hugo’s eyes flashed with the old fire as he abruptly ended, and stood gazing straight before him.
“Have you the ring now?” Marion asked. Her voice was low, and the old dread was upon her. Would not the possession of the ring implicate her father in the crime? How could he clear himself?
“No, I have not the ring,” Hugo replied. “I gave it to the missionary to keep for me. But I cannot find it anywhere. It must be hidden in a very secure place, or else it has been stolen.”
“It has been stolen.”
These low impressive words caused all to start and look quickly around. What they saw was almost unbelievable. There in the doorway stood the missionary, white and haggard. His eyes were bright and filled with the light of determination. He tottered and leaned against the door post for support. The doctor stepped forward to assist him.
“You should not be here,” he advised. “You are not strong enough to walk yet. Let me help you back to bed.”
“No, no, I must stay up for a while. I shall soon be all right. I have something to tell you, and the Indians
