“Thirty-five guineas!” he repeated.  “If I had known that it was worth as much as that, I do not think that I should have dared to touch it.”

“You—­you took it!” Mrs. Fitzgerald gasped.

“I am afraid,” he admitted, “that it was rather a clumsy joke.  I apologize, Mrs. Fitzgerald.  I hope you did not really imagine that it had been stolen.”

One was conscious of the little thrill of emotion which marked the termination of the episode.  Most of the people not directly concerned were disappointed; they were being robbed of their excitement, their hopes of a tragical denouement were frustrated.  Mrs. Lawrence’s worn face plainly showed her relief.  The lady with the yellow hair, on the other hand, who had now succeeded in working herself up into a towering rage, snatched the bracelet from the young man’s fingers and with a purple flush in her cheeks was obviously struggling with an intense desire to box his ears.

“That’s not good enough for a tale!” she exclaimed harshly.  “I tell you I don’t believe a word of it.  Took it for a joke, indeed!  I only wish my husband were here; he’d know what to do.”

“Your husband couldn’t do much more than get your bracelet back, ma’am,” Mrs. Lawrence replied with acerbity.  “Such a fuss and calling every one thieves, too!  I’d be ashamed to be so suspicious.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald glared haughtily at her hostess.

“It’s all very well for those that don’t possess any jewelry and don’t know the value of it, to talk,” she declared, with her eyes fixed upon a black jet ornament which hung from the other woman’s neck.  “What I say is this, and you may just as well hear it from me now as later.  I don’t believe this cock-and-bull story of Mr. Tavernake’s.  Them as took my bracelet from that table meant keeping it, only they hadn’t the courage.  And I’m not referring to you, Mr. Tavernake,” the lady continued vigorously, “because I don’t believe you took it, for all your talk about a joke.  And whom you may be shielding it wouldn’t take me two guesses to name, and your motive must be clear to every one.  The common hussy!”

“You are exciting yourself unnecessarily, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Tavernake remarked.  “Let me assure you that it was I who took your bracelet from that table.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald regarded him scornfully.

“Do you expect me to believe a tale like that?” she demanded.

“Why not?” Tavernake replied.  “It is the truth.  I am sorry that you have been so upset—­”

“It is not the truth!”

More sensation!  Another unexpected entrance!  Once more interest in the affair was revived.  After all, the lookers-on felt that they were not to be robbed of their tragedy.  An old lady with yellow cheeks and jet black eyes leaned forward with her hand to her ear, anxious not to miss a syllable of what was coming.  Tavernake bit his lip; it was the girl from the roof who had entered the room.