"You'll think this very strange," she said, stammeringly, "but if you
don't mind telling me something?--you see, I saw you just now in the
station, when you were feeling for your match-box, and I noticed that you
wore a platinum stud--with an unusual device on it."
The American laughed--a good-natured, genial laugh--and threw open his
coat. At the same moment he thrust his wrists forward.
"This stud!" he said. "That's so!--it is platinum, and the device is
curious. And the device is right there, too, see--on those solitaire cuff-
studs! But--"
He paused looking at Zillah, whose eyes were now fastened on the cuff-
studs, and who was obviously so astonished as to have lost her tongue.
"You seemed mighty amazed at my studs!" said the stranger, with another
laugh. "Now, you'll just excuse me if I ask--why?"
Zillah regained her wits with an effort, and became as business-like as
usual.
"Don't, please, think I'm asking idle and purposeless questions," she
said. "Have you been long in London?"
"A few days only," answered the stranger, readily enough.
"Have you read of what's already called the Praed Street Murder in the
papers?" continued Zillah.
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