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“You did not yourself see the ring on Miss Fane’s finger during the day? Or when she came to you to procure pin for orchids?”

“If I did, it made no impression on me, sir.”

“You see things, yet they make no impression?”

“You know how it is, sir. Things become familiar and you don’t really notice. What I mean is—the ring may or may not have been there. I’m afraid I can’t say, sir.”

“You wish the matter to stand at that?”

“I fear it must, as far as I am concerned.”

Chan bowed. “Thank you—that is all.”

He stepped through a French window, and walked slowly across the lanai. He had no heart for the task that faced him now, but many such tasks had confronted him in the past, and he had never faltered. Stepping out on the lawn, he went over to a beach swing where Bradshaw and the girl were sitting.

“Miss Julie,” he began. The girl looked up at him, and at sight of his grave face, her own paled.

“Yes, Mr. Chan,” she said in a low voice.

“Miss Julie, you have told me Miss Fane gave you that emerald ring soon after her arrival yesterday morning. Why did you tell me that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Julie answered bravely.

“Then how do you account for fact that ring was seen on her finger last evening at seven?”

“Who says it was?” the girl cried.

“Is that important?”

“It is very important. Who says it was?”

“I learn it from what I think reliable source.”

“You have no means of knowing how reliable, Mr. Chan. Who made that statement? Not Miss Dixon—