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m
ped into his friend Jim Benton's
office for a chat, and the sight of
the trim looking young woman,
industriously pounding away
upon the typewriting machine,
put a new idea into his head.
" "Miss Brown," he asked, "have
you time to address an envelope
for me?"
' "Certaiply," replied Miss
Brown, finishing the letter she
was at work upon, -and inserting
an envelope in her machine.
Ashton walked over to her side
and told her the "address in a low
' tone.
, After thanking Miss Brown,
Ashton hurried from the office,
with the envelope safe in his
pocket, and back to the seclusion
of his own room, where he gave
himself up to the pleasant task
" of packing the opal up, prepara
tory to losing it once more.
He did the ring up in a small
box, upon which he pasted the
address which he cut from the en
1 velope. '
J 'Til have to guess at the post-
age," he remarked, as he stuck
: several stamps upon the little
T package. "It would never do for
' me to go to the postoffice and
' have the thing weighed; that is,
.not if I want to lose it."
When Ashton had shoved his
- box through the slit labeled "par-
7 eels" at the postofficeT he felt
i more 'liW himself than he had
done for some time.
"There," he thought complac
ently,' "I've disposed of that opal
for all time now, and I don't be
lieve even a twin brother to Sher
lock Holmes could restore it to
me. They will get it at Pack
ard's jewelry store either tonight
or tomorrow morning, and I sup
pose they will try to find out
where it came from, but they
won't be able to do so. They can
sell it if they want to, for all I
care."
The next morning, drawn by
that irresistible influence which is
supposed to draw murderers to
the scenes of their former crimes,
often to their own undoing, Ash
ton was sauntering past Pack-)
ard's jewelry store, when one of
the clerkshailed him with: "Mr.
Packarcj wishes to see you a mo
ment." With sinkiner heart Ashton
meekly followed the clerk into
the store.
Mr. Packard lookecf at Ashton
sharply through his spectacles, as
he inquired ; "This is your ring,
isn't it?"
Ashton's face grew very red
under the keen scrutiny of the old
man.
"Yes," he stammered, pretend
ing to examine the too familiar
rjng which Mr. Packard held out
to him. "I I lost it."
"Huh !" ejaculated the jeweler.
"Looks more like theft. It came
to us by mail. I knew in a min
ute it was yours, for we never
made another one like it," and he
pointed to the peculiar-setting.
Ashton groaned inwardly at
the poor memory which had caus
ed nim to forget that he had had
the ring made to order from a
special design of his own, at this
very place.
Outwardly, however, he made
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