Killigrew threw up his hands. "And this is the London you've been
bragging about to me! How much was the ruby worth?"
"Don't know; nobody does. It's one of those jewels you can't set a
price on. He will not be able to dispose of it in its present shape.
He'll break it up and sell the pieces, and that's the shame of it.
Think of the infernal cleverness of the man! Two or three hundred
vehicles stalled in the street, fog so thick you couldn't see your hand
before your face. Simple game for a man with ready wit. And the
police busy at the two ends of the block, trying to straighten out the
tangle. Mrs. Crawford says that the hand was white, slender and well
kept. It came in swiftly and accurately. The man had been watching
and waiting. She was so unprepared for the act that she didn't even
try to catch the hand. I have notified Scotland Yard. But you can't
hunt down a hand. I'm willing to wager that we'll neither of us ever
see the gems again."
"He must have come directly from your carriage to mine," said Kitty.
"I am heart-broken."
"One of the tricks of fate. Glad you got back all right. We were
mightily worried. Come over across the hall at nine to-morrow, all of
you, for breakfast. Don't fuss up. And we'll talk over the affair and
plan what's to be done. Good night."
"I like that young man," declared Killigrew emphatically. "He's the
real article. American to the backbone; a millionaire who doesn't
splurge. Well," sighing regretfully, "he was born to it, and I had to
dig for mine. But I can't get it through my head why he wants to
excavate mummies when he could dig up potatoes with some profit."
"Dad, find me an earl or a duke like Mr. Crawford, and I'll marry him
just as fast as you like."
"Kittibudget, I'm not so strong for dukes as I was. Your mother will
have a black eye in the morning, or I don't know a shindy when I see
it. Now, hike off to bed. I'm all in."
"You poor old dad! I worry you to death."
She threw her lovely arms about his neck and kissed him.
"Well, you're worth it. Kitty, I've had a jolt to-night. You marry
whom you blame please. I've been doing some tall thinking. Make your
own romance, duke or dry-goods clerk. You'd never hook up with
anything that wasn't a man. You're Irish. If he happens to be made,
all well and good; if not, why, I'll undertake to make him. And that's
a bargain. I don't want any alimony money in the Killigrew family."