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"That is true, Royce, but we want you to sign a confession as to just how that ring got in the inkwell. If you don't do that, the seminary authorities may still think it was placed there by Miss Laning." "Oh, I don't want to put nuthin' off on Miss Laning's shoulders," answered the former gardener. "If you want a confession from me so as you can clear her, go ahead!"
"This is from Miss Clara Parsons," went on Tom, "the teacher who owned the ring. Here, you can read the telegram if you want to," and he passed the sheet over. The message ran as follows: "Ring found in inkwell. Perfect condition. Did Miss Laning put it there? "Clara Parsons." "Short and sweet, but it tells the story," was Dick's comment.
She had told me that she was goin' to discharge me if there was any more trouble, so I knowed wot was comin'. Then I quit, an' come away," concluded Andy Royce. "Well, of all the things I ever heard of, this takes the cake!" was Sam's comment. "If this fellow's story is true, the ring ought to be in the inkwell yet," said Tom. "That is, unless the well was washed out and put away for the summer.
The foreman rapped vigorously with an inkwell, splashing the fluid over his fingers and quite a considerable area of table-top. "Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Let us talk this thing over quietly and calmly. Mr. Pushkin seems to have a wrong conception as to what constitutes evidence. Now, let me have the floor for a few minutes, and I'll try to explain to him what constitutes evidence."
Around him all was darkness, a darkness so deep and so black that for a moment he thought he had put his head into an inkwell. He listened for a few moments and heard nothing. Once in a while a cold wind blew on his face. At first he could not understand where that wind was coming from, but after a while he understood that it came from the lungs of the monster.
The august head looked troubled at this; however, he took his pen and was just in the act of putting it to paper when his assistant or rather accomplice interposed and they argued a bit. He took his pen for the second time and plunging it into the inkwell was just about to sign when somebody else expostulated and another discussion ensued.
Here at Malmaison Josephine even surrounded herself with the most intimate souvenirs of Napoleon: a lounging chair that he was wont to occupy stood in its accustomed place; his bed was always made; his sword hung upon the wall; his pen was in his inkwell; a book was open on his desk and his geographical globe his famous mappemond was in its accustomed place.
"You may take my property and imprison me, but I explain nothing, and I take back nothing," he declared in a loud voice. The judge regarded his inkwell with a smile. "You mistake the nature of this occasion, Mr. Oberlies. You are not asked to recant.
It was in the inkwell that had red ink in it, an' the ring went plumb out o' sight." "And you left the ring in the inkwell?" queried Tom. "Sure I did! Then, not to be seen in the office, I slipped out in a hurry, an' left the seminary by the back door an' ran to the stables. Miss Harrow was there.
"I am afraid," he said, "if all you want is a valet, you will have to look elsewhere. I got the idea from your advertisement that something rather more exciting was in the air. I can recommend you to several good employment agencies if you wish." He rose. "Good-morning!" he said. He would have liked to fling the massive pewter inkwell at this little creature who had so keenly disappointed him.
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