Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

CHAPTER XIX
PAUL DELIBERATES

Paul stood in the street irresolute. He looked hopelessly up and down Broadway, but of course the jeweler from Syracuse was not to be seen. Seeking for him in a city containing hundreds of streets and millions of inhabitants was about as discouraging as hunting for a needle in a haystack. But difficult as it was, Paul was by no means ready to give up the search. Indeed, besides the regret he felt at the loss, he was mortified at having been so easily outwitted.

“He’s taken me in just as if I was a country boy,” thought Paul. “I dare say he’s laughing at me now. I’d like to get even with him.”

Finally he decided to go to Tiffany’s, and ask them to detain any one who might bring in the ring and offer it for sale. He at once acted upon this thought, and, hailing a Broadway stage, for no time was to be lost, soon reached his destination. Entering the store, he walked up to the counter and addressed the clerk to whom he had before shown the ring.

“Do you remember my offering you a diamond ring for sale this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, I remember it very well. Have you got it with you?”

“No, it has been stolen from me.”

“Indeed! How was that?” asked the clerk, with interest.

“I met in the cars a well-dressed man, who called himself a jeweler from Syracuse. He examined the ring, and offered me more than Mr. Tiffany, but asked me to bring it to him at Lovejoy’s Hotel. When I got there, he drugged me with chloroform, and when I recovered he was gone.”

“You have been unlucky. There are plenty of such swindlers about. You should have been careful about displaying the ring before strangers.”

“I was showing it to a friend.”

“Have you notified the police?”

“Not yet. I came here to let you know, because I thought the thief might bring it in here to sell.”

“Very likely. Give me a description of him.”

Paul described Mr. Felix Montgomery to the best of his ability.

“I think I should know him from your description. I will speak to Mr. Tiffany, and he will no doubt give orders to detain any person who may offer the ring for sale.”

“Thank you.”

“If you will give me your address, we will notify you in case the ring is brought in.”

Paul left his address, and went out of the store, feeling that he had taken one step toward the recovery of his treasure. He next visited the police headquarters, and left a detailed description of the man who had relieved him of the ring and of the circumstances attending the robbery. Then he went home.

His mother looked up as he entered.

“Well, Paul?” she said, inquiringly.

“I’ve got bad news, mother,” he said.

“What is it? Tell me quick!” she said, nervously.

“The ring has been stolen from me.”

“How did it happen, Paul?”

“First, I must tell you how much the ring is worth. I went up to Tiffany’s, and showed the ring to Mr. Tiffany himself. He told me that he would give me two hundred and fifty dollars for it, if I would satisfy him that I had a right to sell it.”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars!” repeated Mrs. Hoffman, in amazement.

“Yes, the diamond is very large and pure.”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars would be a great help to us.”

“Yes, mother, that is what makes me feel so bad about being swindled out of it.”

“Tell me how it happened. Is there no chance of recovering it?”

“A little. I shall do what I can. I have already notified the police, and Mr. Tiffany.”

“You have not told me yet how you lost it.”

When Paul had told the story, his mother asked, “Did you mention it in the cars that you had offered it at Tiffany’s?”

“Yes, and I mentioned his offer.”

“Perhaps the thief would be cautious about going there, for that very reason. He might think the ring would be recognized.”

“He would go to a large place, thinking that so valuable a ring would be more readily purchased there.”

“He might go to Ball & Black’s.”

“That is true.”

“It would be well to give notice there also.”

“I will go up there at once. I only wish I could meet Mr. Felix Montgomery; I don’t think he would find it so easy to outreach me a second time.”

“Take some dinner first, Paul.”

“Then I must hurry it down, mother; I don’t want to run the risk of getting too late to Ball & Black’s. I can’t help thinking what a splendid thing it would be if we had the two hundred and fifty dollars. I would buy out Barry’s stand, and I would get a sewing-machine for you, and we could live much more comfortably. It makes me mad to think I let that villain take me in so! He must think me jolly green.”

“Anybody might have been deceived, Paul. You mustn’t blame yourself too much for that.”

Leaving Paul on his way to Ball & Black’s, we return to Mr. Felix Montgomery, as we shall continue to call him, though he had no right to the name. After stupefying Paul, as already described, he made his way downstairs, and, leaving his key at the desk, went out.

“I hope my young friend will enjoy himself upstairs,” he chuckled to himself. “He’s quite welcome to the use of the room till to-morrow morning. It’s paid for in advance, and I don’t think I shall find it convenient to stop there.”

He took the ring from his vest pocket and glanced at it furtively.

“It’s a beauty,” he murmured, complacently. “I never saw a handsomer ring of the size. What was it the boy said he was offered for it? Two hundred and fifty dollars! That’ll give me a lift, and it doesn’t come any too soon. My money is pretty low.”

He walked across the City Hall Park, and at Barclay street entered a University place car.

“Evenin’ paper, mister?” said a ragged newsboy, whose garments were constructed on the most approved system of ventilation.

“What have you got?”

“Evenin’ Post, Mail, Express!”

“Give me an Express. Here’s ten cents.”

“I haven’t got but three cents change, mister.”

“Never mind the change,” said Mr. Montgomery, in a fit of temporary generosity, occasioned by his good luck.

“Thank you, sir,” said the newsboy, regarding Mr. Montgomery as a philanthropist worthy of his veneration.

Felix Montgomery leaned back in his seat, and, with a benevolent smile, ran his eyes over the columns of the Express. Among the paragraphs which attracted his attention was one relating to a comrade, of similar profession, who had just been arrested in Albany while in the act of relieving a gentleman of his pocketbook.

“Jerry always was a bungler,” said Mr. Montgomery, complacently, to himself. “He can’t hold a candle to me. I flatter myself that I know how to manage a little affair, like this, for instance, as well as the next man. It’ll take a sharp detective to lay hold of me.”

It might have been thought that the manner in which he had gained possession of the ring would have troubled Mr. Montgomery, but it was many years since he had led an honest life. He had made a living by overreaching others, and his conscience had become so blunted as to occasion him little trouble. He appeared to think that the world owed him a living, and that he was quite justified in collecting the debt in any way he could.

About twenty minutes brought the car to Amity street and Mr. Montgomery signaled the conductor, and, the car being stopped, he got out.

He walked a few rods in a westerly direction, and paused before a three-story brick house, which appeared to have seen better days.

It was now used as a boarding, or rather lodging-house. The guests were not of a very high character, the landlady not being particular as long as her rent was paid regularly. Mr. Montgomery ascended the steps in a jaunty way, and, opening the door with a passkey, ascended the front staircase. He paused before a room on the third floor, and knocked in a peculiar manner.

The door was opened by a tall woman, in rather neglected attire.

“So you’re back,” she said.

“Yes, my dear, home again. As the poet says, ‘There is no place like home.’”

“I should hope there wasn’t,” said Mrs. Montgomery, looking about her disdainfully. “A very delightful home it makes with such a charming prospect of the back yard. I’ve been moping here all day.”

“You’ve found something to console you, I see,” said her husband, glancing at the table, on which might be seen a bottle of brandy, half-emptied, and a glass.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Montgomery; “I felt so bad I had to send out for something. It took every cent I had. And, by the way, Mrs. Flagg sent in her bill, this morning, for the last two weeks’ board; she said she must have it.”

“My dear,” said Mr. Montgomery, “she shall have it.”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve got the money, Tony!” exclaimed his wife, in surprise.

“No, I haven’t got the money; but I’ve got what’s just as good.”

“What have you got?”

“What do you say to this?” and Mr. Montgomery drew from his pocket the diamond ring, whose loss was so deeply felt by our hero.

“Is that genuine?” asked the lady.

“It’s the real thing.”

“What a beauty! Where did you get it?”

“It was kindly presented me by a young man of the tender age of fifteen or thereabouts, who had no further use for it.”

“You did him out of it, that is. Tell me how you did it.”

Mr. Montgomery told the story. His wife listened with interest and appreciation.

“That was a smart operation, Tony,” she said.

“I should say it was, Maria.”

“How much is the ring worth?”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Can you get that for it?”

“I can get that for it.”

“Tony, you are a treasure.”

“Have you just found that out, my dear?”

CHAPTER XX
THE THIEF IN DISGUISE

It will be inferred, from the preceding conversation, that Mrs. Montgomery was not likely to be shocked by the lack of honesty in her husband. Her conscience was as elastic as his; and she was perfectly willing to help him spend his unlawful gains.

“How soon are you going to sell the ring?” she asked.

“I should like to dispose of it at once, Maria.”

“You will need to. Mrs. Flagg wants her bill paid at once.”

“I quite understand the necessity of promptness, my dear. Only, you know, one has to be cautious about disposing of articles obtained in this way.”

“You say you left the boy locked up. It seems to me, you’d better sell the ring before he has a chance to get out and interfere.”

“I don’t know but you’re right, my dear. Well, we’ll get ready.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Yes; it will disarm suspicion if you are with me. I think I’ll go as a country parson.”

“Country parsons are not apt to have diamond rings to dispose of.”

“Very true, my dear. The remark does credit to your good judgment and penetration. But I know how to get over that.”

“As how?”

“Be a little more particular about your speech, my dear. Remember, you are a minister’s wife, and must use refined expressions. What is easier than to say that the ring was given me by a benevolent lady of my congregation, to dispose of for the benefit of the poor?”

“Well thought of, Tony. You’ve got a good head-piece.”

“You’re right, my dear. I don’t like to indulge in self-praise, but I believe I know a thing or two. And now for the masquerade. Where are the duds?”

“In the black trunk.”

“Then we’d better lose no time in putting them on.”

Without describing the process of transformation in detail, it will be sufficient to say that the next twenty minutes wrought a decided change in the appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Felix Montgomery. The former was arrayed in a suit of canonical black, not of the latest cut. A white neckcloth was substituted for the more gaudy article worn by the jeweler from Syracuse, and a pair of silver-bowed spectacles, composed of plain glass, lent a scholarly air to his face. His hair was combed behind his ears, and, so far as appearance went, he quite looked the character of a clergyman from the rural districts.

“How will I do, my dear?” he asked, complacently.

“Tiptop,” answered the lady. “How do I look?”

Mrs. Montgomery had put on a dress of sober tint, and scant circumference, contrasting in a marked manner with the mode then prevailing. A very plain collar encircled her neck. Her hands were incased in brown silk gloves, while her husband wore black kids. Her bonnet was exceedingly plain, and her whole costume was almost Quaker-like in its simplicity.

Her husband surveyed her with satisfaction.

“My dear,” he said, “you are a fitting helpmeet for the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre. By Jove, you do me credit!”

“‘By Jove’ is not a proper expression for a man of your profession, Mr. Barnes,” said the new minister’s wife, with a smile.

“You are right, my dear. I must eschew profanity, and cultivate a decorous style of speech. Well, are we ready?”

“I am.”

“Then let us set forth on our pilgrimage. We will imagine, Mrs. Barnes, that we are about to make some pastoral calls.”

They emerged into the street. On the way downstairs they met Mrs. Flagg, the landlady, who bowed respectfully. She was somewhat puzzled, however, not knowing when they were let in.

“Good-morning, madam,” said Mr. Barnes. “Are you the landlady of this establishment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have been calling on one of your lodgers—Mr. Anthony Blodgett (this was the name by which Mr. Felix Montgomery was known in the house). He is a very worthy man.”

Now, to tell the truth, Mrs. Flagg had not been particularly struck by the moral worth of her lodger, and this testimony led her to entertain doubts as to the discernment of her clerical visitor.

“You know him, then?”

“I know him as myself, madam. Have you never heard him mention the name of Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre, Connecticut?”

“I can’t say I have,” answered the landlady.

“That is singular. We were always very intimate. We attended the same school as boys, and, in fact, were like Damon and Pythias.”

Mrs. Flagg had never heard of Damon and Pythias, still she understood the comparison.

“You’re in rather a different line now,” she remarked, dryly.

“Yes, our positions are different. My friend dwells in the busy metropolis, while I pass a quiet, peaceful existence in a secluded country village, doing what good I can. But, my dear, we are perhaps detaining this worthy lady from her domestic avocations. I think we must be going.”

“Very well, I am ready.”

The first sound of her voice drew the attention of the landlady. Mrs. Felix Montgomery possessed a thin somewhat shrill, voice, which she was unable to conceal, and, looking attentively at her, Mrs. Flagg penetrated her disguise. Then, turning quickly to the gentleman, aided by her new discovery, she also recognized him.

“Well, I declare,” said she, “if you didn’t take me in beautifully.”

Mr. Montgomery laughed heartily.

“You wouldn’t know me, then?” he said.

“You’re got up excellent,” said Mrs. Flagg, with a slight disregard for grammar. “Is it a joke?”

“Yes, a little practical joke. We’re going to call on some friends and see if they know us.”

“You’d do for the theatre,” said the landlady, admiringly.

“I flatter myself I might have done something on the stage, if my attention had been turned that way. But, my dear, we must be moving, or we shan’t get through our calls.”

“I wonder what mischief they are up to now,” thought Mrs. Flagg, as she followed them to the door. “I know better than to think they’d take the trouble to dress up that way just to take in their friends. No, they’re up to some game. Not that I care, as long as they get money enough to pay my bill.”

So the worldly-wise landlady dismissed them from her thoughts, and went about her work.

Mr. Barnes and his wife walked up toward Broadway at a slow, decorous pace, suited to the character they had assumed. More than one who met them turned back to look at what they considered a perfect type of the country minister and his wife. They would have been not a little surprised to learn that under this quiet garb walked two of the most accomplished swindlers in a city abounding in adventurers of all kinds.

Mr. Barnes paused a moment to reprove a couple of urchins who were pitching pennies on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you know that it’s wrong to pitch pennies?” he said gravely.

“None of your chaff, mister,” retorted one of the street boys, irreverently. “When did you come from the country, old Goggles?”

“My son, you should address me with more respect.”

“Just get out of the way, mister! I don’t want to hear no preachin’.”

“I am afraid you have been badly brought up, my son.”

“I ain’t your son, and I wouldn’t be for a shillin’. Just you go along, and let me alone!”

“A sad case of depravity, my dear,” remarked Mr. Barnes to his wife. “I fear we must leave these boys to their evil ways.”

“You’d better,” said one of the boys.

“They’re smart little rascals!” said Mr. Montgomery, when they were out of hearing of the boys. “I took them in, though. They thought I was the genuine article.”

“We’d better not waste any more time,” said his wife. “That boy might get out, you know, and give us trouble.”

“I don’t believe he will get out in a hurry. I locked the door and he’d have to pound some time before he could make any one hear, I declare, I should like to see how he looked when he recovered from his stupor, and realized that his ring was gone.”

“What sort of boy was he, Tony?”

“Better not call me by that name, my dear. It might be heard, you know, and might not be considered in character. As to your question, he was by no means a stupid boy. Rather sharpish, I should say.”

“Then how came he to let you take him in?”

“As to that, I claim to be rather sharp myself, and quite a match even for a smart boy. I haven’t knocked about the world forty-four years for nothing.”

They were now in Broadway. Turning the corner of Amity street, they walked a short distance downtown, and paused before the handsome jewelry store of Ball & Black.

“I think we had better go in here,” said Felix Montgomery—(I hesitate a little by which of his numerous names to call him).

“Why not go to Tiffany’s?”

“I gather from what the boy told me that the ring has already been offered there. It would be very likely to be recognized and that would be awkward, you know.”

“Are you sure the ring has not been offered here? asked his wife.

“Quite sure. The boy would have mentioned it, had such been the case.”

“Very well. Let us go in then.”

The Rev. Mr. Barnes and his wife, of Hayfield Centre; entered the elegant store, and ten minutes later Paul Hoffman entered also, and took his station at the counters wholly unconscious of the near proximity of the man who had so artfully swindled him.

CHAPTER XXI
PAUL IS CHECKMATED

On entering the large jewelry store Mr. Montgomery and his wife walked to the rear of the store, and advanced to the counter, behind which stood a clerk unengaged.

“What shall I show you?” he inquired

“I didn’t come to purchase,” said Mr. Montgomery, with suavity, “but to sell. I suppose you purchase jewelry at times?”

“Sometimes,” said the clerk. “Let me see what you have.”

“First,” said the adventurer, “let me introduce myself. I am the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre, Connecticut. You perhaps know the place?”

“I don’t think I remember it,” said the clerk, respectfully.

“It is a small place,” said Mr. Montgomery, modestly, “but my tastes are plain and unobtrusive, and I do not aspire to a more conspicuous post. However, that is not to the purpose. A lady parishioner, desiring to donate a portion of her wealth to the poor, has placed in my hand a diamond ring, the proceeds to be devoted to charitable objects. I desire to sell it, and, knowing the high reputation of your firm feel safe in offering it to you. I know very little of the value of such things, since they are not in my line, but I am sure of fair treatment at your hands.”

“You may depend upon that,” said the clerk, favorably impressed with the appearance and manners of his customer. “Allow me to see the ring.”

The brilliant was handed over the counter.

“It is quite valuable,” said he, scrutinizing it closely.

“So I supposed, as the lady is possessed of wealth. You may rely upon its being genuine.”

“I am not authorized to purchase,” said the clerk, “but I will show it to one of the firm.”

Just at that moment, Mr. Montgomery, chancing to look toward the door, was startled by seeing the entrance of Paul Hoffman. He saw that it would be dangerous to carry the negotiation any farther and he quickly gave a secret signal to his wife.

The hint was instantly understood and acted upon.

Mrs. Montgomery uttered a slight cry, and clung to her husband’s arm.

“My dear,” she said, “I feel one of my attacks coming on. Take me out quickly.

“My wife is suddenly taken sick,” said Mr. Montgomery, hurriedly.

“She is subject to fits. If you will give me the ring, I will return to-morrow and negotiate for its sale.”

“I am very sorry,” said the clerk, with sympathy, handing back the ring. “Can I get anything for the lady?”

“No, thank you. The best thing to do is to get her into the open air. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Let me help you,” said the clerk, and coming from behind the counter he took one arm of Mrs. Montgomery, who, leaning heavily on her husband and the clerk, walked, or rather was carried, to the street door.

Of course, the attention of all within the store was drawn to the party.

“What was the matter?” inquired a fellow-clerk, as the salesman returned.

“It was a clergyman from Connecticut, who wished to sell a diamond ring, given to him for charitable purposes. His wife was taken suddenly sick. He will bring it back to-morrow.”

“Was the ring a valuable one?”

“It must be worth in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars.”

Paul listened to this explanation, and a sudden light flashed upon him, as he heard the estimated value of the ring. There had been something familiar in the appearance of the adventurer, though, on account of his successful disguise and his being accompanied by a lady, he had not before felt any suspicion as to his identity with the man who had swindled him. Now he felt convinced that it was Mr. Felix Montgomery, and that it was his own appearance which had led to the sudden sickness and the precipitate departure.

“That trick won’t work, Mr. Montgomery,” he said to himself. “I’ve got on your track sooner than I anticipated, and I mean to follow you up.”

Reaching the sidewalk, he caught sight of Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery just turning the corner of a side street. The pair supposed they were safe, not thinking that our hero had recognized them, and the lady no longer exhibited illness, and was walking briskly at her husband’s side. Paul hurried up and tapped the adventurer on the shoulder. Mr. Montgomery, turning, was annoyed on finding that he had not yet escaped. He determined, however, to stick to his false character, and deny all knowledge of the morning’s transaction.

“Well, my young friend,” he said, “do you want me? I believe I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“You are mistaken there, Mr. Felix Montgomery,” said Paul, significantly.

“By what name did you address me?” said the swindler, assuming a tone of surprise.

“I addressed you as Mr. Felix Montgomery.”

“You have made a mistake, my good friend. I am an humble clergyman from Connecticut. I am called the Rev. Mr. Barnes. Should you ever visit Hayfield Centre, I shall be glad to receive a call from you.”

“When I last met you, you were a jeweler from Syracuse,” said Paul, bluntly.

Mr. Montgomery laughed heartily.

“My dear,” he said, turning to his wife, “is not this an excellent joke? My young friend here thinks he recognizes in me a jeweler from Syracuse.”

“Indeed, you are quite mistaken,” said the lady. “My husband is a country minister. We came up to the city this morning on a little business.”

“I understand on what business,” said Paul. “You wanted to dispose of a diamond ring.”

Mr. Montgomery was disposed to deny the charge, but a moment’s reflection convinced him that it would be useless, as Paul had doubtless been informed in Ball & Black’s of his business there. He decided to put on a bold front and admit it.

“I suppose you were in Ball & Black’s just now,” he said.

“I was.”

“And so learned my business there? But I am at a loss to understand why you should be interested in the matter.”

“That ring is mine,” said Paul. “You swindled me out of it this morning.”

“My young friend, you must certainly be insane,” said Mr. Montgomery, shrugging his shoulders. “My dear, did you hear that?”

“He is an impudent boy,” said the lady. “I am surprised that you should be willing to talk to him.”

“If you leave here I will put a policeman on your track,” said Paul.

He looked so determined that Mr. Montgomery found that he must parley.

“You are under a strange hallucination, my young friend,” he said. “If you will walk along with me, I think I can convince you of your mistake.”

“There is no mistake about the matter,” said Paul, walking on with them. “The ring is mine, and I must have it.”

“My dear, will you explain about the ring? He may credit your testimony.”

“I don’t see that any explanation is necessary,” said the lady. “However, since you wish it, I will say that the ring was handed you by Mrs. Benton, a wealthy lady of your parish, with instructions to sell it, and devote the proceeds to charitable purposes.”

“Is that explanation satisfactory?” asked Mr. Montgomery.

“No, it is not,” said Paul, resolutely. “I don’t believe one word of it. I recognize you in spite of your dress. You gave me chloroform this morning in a room in Lovejoy’s Hotel, and when I was unconscious you made off with the ring which I expected to sell you. You had better return it, or I will call a policeman.”

“I am not the person you take me for,” said Felix Montgomery.

“You are the jeweler from Syracuse who swindled me out of my ring.”

“I never was a jeweler, and never lived in Syracuse,” said the adventurer, with entire truth.

“You may be right, but that is what you told me this morning.”

“I wish you would go away, and cease to annoy us,” said the lady, impatiently.

“I want my ring.”

“We have no ring of yours.”

“Show me the ring, and if it is not mine I will go away.”

“You are a very impudent fellow, upon my word,” said Mrs. Montgomery, sharply, “to accuse a gentleman like my husband of taking your ring. I don’t believe you ever had one.”

“My dear,” interposed her husband, mildly, “I dare say my young friend here really thinks we have his ring. Of course it is a great mistake. Imagine what our friends in Hayfield Centre would think of such a charge! But you must remember that he is unacquainted with my standing in the community. In order to satisfy his mind, I am willing to let him see the ring.”

“To let him see the ring?” repeated the lady, in surprise.

“Yes. Here, my lad,” taking the ring from his pocket, “this is the ring. You will see at once that it is not yours.”

“I see that it is mine,” said Paul, taking the proffered ring, and preparing to go, astonished at his own good fortune in so easily recovering it.

“Not so fast!” exclaimed Mr. Montgomery, seizing him by the shoulder. “Help! Police!”

An officer had turned the corner just before, and it was this that had suggested the trap. He came up quickly, and, looking keenly from one to the other, inquired what was the matter.

“This boy has just purloined a ring from my wife,” said Mr. Montgomery. “Fortunately I caught him in the act.”

“Give up the ring, you young scoundrel!” said the officer, imposed upon by the clerical appearance of the adventurer.

“It is mine,” said Paul.

“None of your gammon! Give up the ring, and come with me.”

The ring was restored to Mr. Montgomery, who overwhelmed the officer with a profusion of thanks.

“It is not a diamond, only an imitation,” he said, “but my wife values it as the gift of a friend. Don’t be too hard on the boy. He may not be so bad as he seems.”

“I’ll attend to him,” said the policeman, emphatically. “I’ll learn him to rob ladies of rings in the street. Come along, sir!”

Paul tried to explain matters, but no attention was paid to his protestations. To his anger and mortification he saw the swindler make off triumphantly with the ring, while he, the wronged owner, was arrested as a thief.

But at the station-house he had his revenge. He was able to prove to his captor that he had lodged information against Mr. Montgomery, and the policeman in turn was mortified to think how readily he had been imposed upon. Of course Paul was set free, but the officer’s blundering interference seemed to render the recovery of the ring more doubtful than ever.