"Hi! Jean, whose is this luggage?" cried Pierre Janvard one morning to his head waiter. He pointed at the same time to a large portmanteau which lay among a pile of other luggage in the hall of the Three Crowns Hotel, Bath.

With that restless curiosity which was such a marked trait in his character, Janvard had a habit of peering about among the luggage of his guests, and even of prying stealthily about their bedrooms when he knew that their occupants were out of the way, and he himself safe from detection. It was not that he hoped to benefit himself in any way, or even to pick up any information that would be of value to him, by such a mode of proceeding; but it had been a habit with him from boyhood to do this kind of thing, and it was a habit that he could by no means overcome.

Passing through the hall this morning, his eye had been attracted by a pile of luggage belonging to several fresh arrivals, and he at once began to peer among the labels. The second label that took his eye was inscribed, "Richard Dering, Esq., Passenger to Bath." Janvard stood aghast as he read the name. A crowd of direful memories rushed to his mind. For a moment or two he could not speak. Then he called Jean as above.

"That portmanteau," answered Jean, "belongs to a gentleman who came in by the last train. He and another gentleman came together. They wanted a private sitting-room, and I put them into number twenty-nine."

"Has the other gentleman any luggage?"

"Yes, this large black bag belongs to him." Janvard stooped and read: "Tom Bristow, Esq., Passenger to Bath." "Quite strange to me, that name," he muttered to himself. At this moment the boots came, and shouldering the luggage, hurried with it upstairs.

"They have ordered dinner, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you hear them say how long they were likely to stay here?"

"No, sir."

"Wait on them yourself at dinner. Bear in mind all that they talk about, and report it to me afterwards."

"Yes, sir."

Pierre Janvard retired to his sanctum considerably disturbed in mind. Was the fresh arrival any relation or connection of the dead Lionel Dering, or was it merely one of those coincidences of name common enough in everyday life? These were the two questions that he put to himself again and again.

One thing was quite evident to him. Himself unseen, he must contrive to see this unknown Richard Dering. If there were a possibility of the slightest shadow of danger springing either from this or from any other quarter, it behoved him to be on his guard. He would see these people, after which, if requisite, he would at once write to Mr. Kester St. George for instructions.

He had just brought his cogitations to an end, and had opened his banker\'s passbook, the contemplation of which was a never-failing source of joy to him, when a tap came to the door, and next moment in walked Mr. Richard Dering and Mr. Tom Bristow.

It was on the face of this Richard Dering that Pierre Janvard\'s eyes rested first. In one brief glance he took in every detail of his appearance. Then his eyes fell. His sallow face grew sallower still. His thin lips quivered for a moment, and then his hands began to tremble slightly, so that in a little while he was obliged to take them off the table and bury them in his pockets.

He saw at once that this Mr. Dering must be a near relative of that other Mr. Dering whose face he remembered so well--whose face it was impossible that he should ever forget. They were alike, and yet strangely unlike: the same in many points, and yet in others most different. But the moment this dark-looking stranger opened his lips, it seemed indeed as if Lionel Dering had come back from the grave. A covert glance at Mr. Bristow assured Janvard that in him he beheld a man whose face he had no recollection of having ever seen before.

"Your name is Janvard, I believe?" said Mr. Dering, with a slight bow.

"Pierre Janvard at your service," answered the Frenchman, deferentially.

"You were formerly, I believe, in the service of Mr. Kester St. George?"

"I had that honour."

"My name is Dering--Richard Dering. It is probable that you never heard of me before, seeing that I have only lately returned from India. I am cousin to Mr. Kester St. George."

The Frenchman bowed. "I have no recollection of having heard monsieur\'s name mentioned by my late employer."

"I suppose not. But my brother\'s name--Lionel Dering--must be well known to you."

Janvard could not repress a slight start So that was the relationship, was it?

"Ah, yes," he said. "I have seen Mr. Lionel Dering many times, and done several little services for him at one time or another."

"You were one of the chief witnesses on the trial, if I recollect rightly?"

Janvard coughed, to gain a moment\'s time. The conversation was taking a turn that he did not approve of. "I certainly was one of the witnesses on the trial," he said, with an air of deprecation. "But monsieur will understand that it was a misfortune which I had no means of avoiding. I could not help seeing what I did see, and they made me tell all about it."

"Oh, we quite understand that," said Mr. Dering. "You were not to blame in any way. You could not do otherwise than as you did."

Janvard smiled faintly, and bowed his gratification.

"My friend here, Mr. Bristow, and myself, have come down to stay a week or two in your charming city. The doctors tell me there is something the matter with my spleen, and have recommended me to drink the Bath waters. Hearing casually that you were the proprietor of one of the most comfortable hotels in the place, and looking upon you somewhat in the light of a connection of the family, we thought that we could not do better than take up our quarters with you."

Again Janvard smiled and bowed his gratification. "Monsieur may depend upon my using my utmost endeavours to make himself and his friend as comfortable as possible. Pardon my presumption, but may I venture to ask whether Mr. St. George was quite well when monsieur saw or heard from him last?"

"My cousin was a little queer a short time ago, but I believe him to be well again by this time." Mr. Dering turned to go. "We have given your waiter instructions as to dinner," he said.

"I hope my chef will succeed in pleasing you," said Janvard., with a smile. "He has the reputation of being second to none in the city." With the same smile on his face he followed them to the door and bowed them out, and, still smiling, watched them till they turned the corner of the street. "No danger there, I think," he said to himself. "None whatever. Still I must keep on the watch--always on the watch. I must look to their dinners myself, and leave them nothing to complain of. But I shall be very much pleased indeed when they call for their bill: very much pleased to see the last of them."

Said Tom to Lionel, as they were walking arm-in-arm towards the pump-room: "Did you notice that magnificent ring which Janvard wore on the third finger of his left hand?"

"I could not fail to notice it. I was thinking about it at the very moment you spoke."

"I have not seen so splendid a ruby for a long time. The setting, too, is rather unique."

"Yes, it was the peculiar setting that caused me to recognize it again."

"That caused you to recognize it! You don\'t mean to say that you have ever seen the ring before?"

"I certainly have seen it before."

"Where?"

"On the finger of Percy Osmond."

Tom halted suddenly and stared at Lionel as if he could hardly believe the evidence of his ears.

"I am stating nothing but the simple truth," continued Lionel. "The moment I saw the ring on Janvard\'s finger the thought flashed through me that I had certainly seen it somewhere before. All the time I was talking to Janvard I was trying to call that somewhere to mind, but it did not come to me till after we had left the hotel--not, in fact, till a minute before you spoke about it."

"Are you sure you are not mistaken? There are many ruby rings in the world."

"I don\'t for one moment think that I am mistaken," answered Lionel deliberately. "If the ring worn by Janvard be the one I mean, it has three initial letters engraved inside the hoop. What particular letters they are I cannot now recollect. I chanced to express my admiration of the ring one night in the billiard-room, and Osmond took it off his finger in order that I might examine it. It was then I saw the letters, but without noticing them with sufficient particularity to remember them again."

"I always had an idea," said Tom, "that Janvard was in some way mixed up with the murder, and this would seem to prove it. He must have stolen the ring from Osmond\'s room either immediately before or immediately after the murder."

"I must see that ring," said Lionel decisively. "It must come into my possession, if only for a minute or two, if only while I ascertain whether the initials are really there."

"I don\'t think that there will be much difficulty about that," said Tom. "The fellow has no suspicion as to whom you really are, or as to the object of our visit to Bath. To admire the ring is the first step: to ask to look at it the second."

A quarter of an hour later Lionel gripped Tom suddenly by the arm. "Bristow," he whispered, "I have just remembered something. Osmond had that ruby ring on his finger the night before he was murdered! I have a distinct recollection of seeing it on his hand when we were playing that last game of billiards together."

"If this ring," said Tom, "prove to be the one you believe it to be, the finding of it will be another and a most important link in the chain of evidence."

"Yes--almost, if not quite, the last one that we shall need," said Lionel.

At dinner that evening Janvard in person took in the wine. The eyes of both Lionel and Tom fixed themselves instinctively on his left hand. The ring was no longer there.

"Can he suspect anything?" asked Lionel of Tom, as soon as they were alone.

"I think not," answered Tom. "The fellow is evidently uneasy, and will continue to be so as long as you stay under his roof But the very openness of our proceedings, and the frank way in which we have told him who we are, will go far to disarm any suspicions which he might otherwise have entertained."

Two or three days passed quietly over. Lionel drank the waters with regularity, and he and Tom drove out frequently in the neighbourhood of King Bladud\'s beautiful city. Janvard always gave them a look in in the course of dinner to see that everything was to their satisfaction; but he still carefully abstained from wearing the ring.

By-and-by there came a certain evening when Janvard failed to put in his usual appearance at the dinner table. Said Tom to the man who waited upon them: "Where is your master this evening? Not ill, I hope?"

"Gone to a masonic banquet, sir," answered the man.

"Then he won\'t be home till late, I\'ll wager."

"Not till eleven or twelve, I dare say, sir.

"Gone in full fig, of course?" said Tom, laughingly.

"Yes, sir," answered the man with a grin.

"Diamond studs and ruby ring, and everything complete, eh?" went on Tom.

"I don\'t know about diamond studs, sir," said the man, "but he certainly had his ring on, for I saw it on his finger myself."

"Now is our time," said Tom to Lionel, as soon as the man had left the room. "We may not have such an opportunity again."

It was close upon midnight when Pierre Janvard, alighting from a fly at the door of his hotel, found his two lodgers standing on the steps smoking a last cigar before turning in for the night. In this there was nothing unusual--nothing to excite suspicion.

"Hallo! Janvard, is that you?" cried Tom, assuming the tone and manner of a man who has taken a little too much wine. "I was just wondering what had become of you. This is my birthday: so you must come upstairs with us, and drink my health in some of your own wine."

"Another time, sir, I shall be most happy; but to-night----"

"But me no buts," cried Tom. "I\'ll have no excuses--none. Come along, Dering, and we\'ll crack another bottle of Janvard\'s Madeira. We\'ll poison mine host with his own tipple."

He seized Janvard by the arm, and dragged him upstairs, trolling out the last popular air as he did so. Lionel followed leisurely.

"You\'re a good sort, Janvard--a deuced good sort!" said Tom.

"Monsieur is very kind," said Janvard, with a smile and a shrug; and then in obedience to a wave from Tom\'s hand, he sat down at table. Tom now began to fumble with a bottle and a corkscrew.

"Allow me, monsieur," said Janvard, politely, as he relieved Tom of the articles in question, and proceeded to open the bottle with the ease of long practice.

"That\'s a sweet thing in rings you\'ve got on your finger," said Tom, admiringly.

"Yes, it is rather a fine stone," said Janvard, dryly.

"May I be allowed to examine it?" asked Tom, as he poured out the wine with a hand that was slightly unsteady.

"I should be most happy to oblige monsieur," said Janvard, hastily, "but the ring fits me so tightly that I am afraid I should have some difficulty in getting it off my finger."

"Hang it all, man, the least you can do is to try," cried Tom.

The Frenchman flushed slightly, drew off the ring with some little difficulty, and passed it across the table to Tom. Tom\'s fingers clutched it like a vice. Janvard saw the movement and half rose, as if to reclaim the ring; but it was too late, and he sat down without speaking.

Tom pushed the ring carelessly over one of his fingers, and turned it towards the light. "A very pretty gem, indeed!" he said. "And worth something considerable in sovereigns, I should say."

"Will you allow me to examine it for a moment?" asked Lionel gravely, as he held out his hand. For the second time Janvard half rose from his seat, and for the second time he sat down without a word. ............