T was a dark and gusty night; rain now drizzled and now whistled down; the wet pavement gleamed under the lamps, and the policeman's water-proof cape flashed back as it were an answering signal. The few people about scurried hard for home or some makeshift shelter—no need to bid them "move on"! The policeman had his beat, and his thoughts, pretty well to himself. His beat lay along the Embankment at the Westminster end; his thoughts were wholly set on wondering how long the hands on the clock in the tower up there would take to cover what was professedly only half an hour; the boom of ten o'clock from Big Ben would set him free.
Indulging in an unveiled yawn, he strolled along with the ponderous passivity that characterises the policeman unemployed. Yet the next moment his eye—his human eye, not his professional—brightened somewhat at the sight of a graceful figure leaning against the parapet just under a lamp. A married man, he was yet accustomed to beguile his hours of duty by a discreet, though critical, appraisement of the beauty he encountered; no harm, surely, in that? He strolled more slowly, aiming at noiselessness, for he did not wish to disturb the girl; she was obviously engrossed in thought, gazing across to the wharves on the Surrey side, her hands clasped and her elbows resting on the parapet. She was draped from neck to feet in a long cloak; to the pelt of the rain—it was coming down smartly now—she seemed quite indifferent.
When the policeman was some ten paces from her, he stopped suddenly; she had unclasped her hands, and by that action revealed a small object which had lain hidden between them. It was a little case; the next moment the policeman—her preoccupation allowed him to steal gradually up to her—saw her open it; with one hand she took out a ring; with the other she flung the case into the river. Then she put the ring on the third finger of her left hand and seemed to study the effect it made so placed.
In an instant the policeman became professional. He was by her side. "Seeing how it looks on you?" he asked; his voice was free from cockney taint, but rough with a northern burr.
She turned to him with a start, showing a small, delicately featured face, pale in tint, and with large eyes.
"Didn't want to keep the case, didn't you?" he asked.
"I didn't want to keep the case—and, yes, I am seeing how it looks on me," she answered in a composed voice. "And when I have seen how it looks on me, I'm going to throw it into the river, after the case."
"That's a rum start!" There was more than the connoisseur's study of beauty in his regard of her now. "Throwing pearl rings into the Thames is a funny way of spending your time, ain't it?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, turning and facing him squarely.
"The case—well, that's not so funny; cases tell tales. But I was thinking that you might only have thought of throwing the ring after it quite lately—since you've seen me, in point of fact. Anything in that?"
She looked at him a moment longer, and then smiled tentatively. "Oh!" she said slowly, in the tone of one who makes a discovery. "You're thinking?" Her smile broadened a little, developing a dimple in her left cheek. "I suppose it must look curious!"
"Well, it does a bit, miss." Her air and the quality of her voice extorted the "miss" from him, in spite of his suspicions.
"Of course I thought nobody would see me."
The policeman's face remained gravely irresponsive to the hint of appeal in her words. An alarm—yet rather humorous than serious—showed in her eyes.
"You really mustn't take me up," she said. "That would be most awkward. I—I suppose I should have to explain—everything?"
"Couldn't you begin by explaining a bit now, miss? Just a bit to go on with, so to speak."
"Oh, why not?" she murmured, as though to herself. She turned away from him towards the river again, fingering the pearl ring. "It must have looked funny," she acknowledged again. "But I hadn't worn it for nearly three years. So I thought I'd put it on just once more and see how it—how it used to look. And just then you came up!"
"It looks worth money."
"Not very much. The friend who gave it to me wasn't rich—when he gave it to me."
"My missus would call it pretty fine! Folks down our street wouldn't think she'd come honestly by it."
"And you don't think I have?" She smiled again.
"I've got my duty to do, miss." A touch of apology softened his sturdiness.
"I came honestly by it, but I can't keep it honestly. So"—she drew the ring off her finger—"it's best at the bottom of the river."
"Wait a bit, miss!" he said sharply, as he laid his hand on hers.