It's just a thing."
"But it has a meaning as between you and him. Is that so?"
"Yes. It has. He will know what it means."
"What does it mean?"
"I am too much his friend not to hold my tongue."
"What! To me!"
"And who are you?" was Jorgenson's unexpected remark. "He has told you
too much already."
"Perhaps he has," whispered Mrs. Travers, as if to herself. "And you
want that ring to be taken to him?" she asked, in a louder tone.
"Yes. At once. For his good."
"Are you certain it is for his good? Why can't you. . . ."
She checked herself. That man was hopeless. He would never tell
anything and there was no means of compelling him. He was invulnerable,
unapproachable. . . . He was dead.
"Just give it to him," mumbled Jorgenson as though pursuing a mere fixed
idea. "Just slip it quietly into his hand. He will understand."
"What is it? Advice, warning, signal for action?"
"It may be anything," uttered Jorgenson, morosely, but as it were in a
mollified tone. "It's meant for his good."
"Oh, if I only could trust that man!" mused Mrs. Travers, half aloud.
Jorgenson's slight noise in the throat might have been taken for an
expression of sympathy. But he remained silent.
"Really, this is most extraordinary!" cried Mrs. Travers, suddenly
aroused.
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