Rich had nothing to say about my discovery. Bob gently took the ring from my fingers and my arm at the same time, telling Rich, "I've got to show this to the chief. You understand, of course. And, Miss Doyle, of course I don't believe that you killed Mrs. Graham! This is all a mistake."

"I didn't do it," I insisted, hearing the doubt in Bob's voice. Rich followed us as I was brought outside to Calloway.

Calloway looked up as Bob stopped in front of him. "Officer Bennett?" he said. "What is it?" He rubbed his salt-and-pepper hair, his grey eyes blinking in confusion. He was tall and burly, a rather intimidating figure.

"Sir," Bob said, glancing apologetically at me once more, "we found this at the scene." He handed over the ring to Calloway.

"Interesting," the chief said without enthusiasm. "It isn't strange for an old woman to possess jewelry, Robert."

"That's true, sir," Bob said with a sigh, "but this isn't Mrs. Graham's ring. It's Miss Doyle's. She claimed it herself."

Calloway looked at me, his eyebrows shooting up. I could see the gears spinning in his head, the elation on his face as he closed in. I could only feel like a fox being cornered by a hound. I swallowed past the dry spot in my throat and said, "It is my ring, sir."

"It is, now, isn't it," he said, grinning. "So tell me, Miss Doyle, when did you last see this ring?"

"When I went to Domiano Corderro's house," I answered. "My parents gave it to me for my birthday on January second. I lost it on the tenth. I went back to Domiano's house, but it wasn't there. Ask Domiano; he knows I lost it."

"Corderro, hmm?" The chief seemed amused. "Miss Doyle, are you aware that the cook, Carmen Corderro, is Domiano's mother?"

I could only shake my head dumbly. How had Domiano's mother gotten mixed up in this mess? Calloway was still laughing at me. "Miss Doyle, this ring was found at the scene of the crime. Can you explain the reason behind this?"

"Sir, I'm being framed!" I said desperately. "Can't you see? The gun in my drawer, my ring at the scene! It's a frame. Please, I've never told a lie in my life!"

"Miss Doyle, such a tantrum doesn't suit you," Chief Calloway said calmly. "I'm going to request that your trial be pushed up to next month. You're so obviously guilty."

"If I may, sir," Rich interrupted, "there are a few flaws in your brilliant theory."

"Flaws?" Calloway was taken by surprise. "Theory?"

Rich nodded. "Oh, yes, sir," he said. "Let's assume for a brief moment that this is indeed my dear cousin's ring. Shall we, dear girl?"

"If we must," I sighed.

"Rose claims she lost it," Rich went on. "Assuming, of course, that she isn't mistaken in identifying this as her ring. Now, let's talk about the murder, shall we? How did the killer get into Mrs. Graham's home?"

"She broke in," Calloway said, glaring at me. As if I liked to break into little old lady's houses on my weekends and days off. Honestly.

"The murderer broke in," Rich said. "Fascinating! Now, tell me this; if the killer broke in, where did he break in?"

"She," Calloway corrected, "broke in through the window. Over here." He led us to the window of the sitting room, motioning to the broken lock.

"Since the lock is broken," Rich said, "we can assume that it was closed and locked when the killer arrived. And did you find any fingerprints on this window, or anywhere in the house?"

Silently, Calloway shook his head. He must have known where Rich was going with this, even if I didn't. Rich went on, "Now how do you suppose the killer opened the window without leaving any fingerprints on it? I mean, they certainly used a tool to break the lock, but what about to lift the window up."

"She used the tool," Calloway suggested.

"Ha! No, that'd be a lot of trouble and would have left a mark on the window," Rich said. He motioned to the paint on the bottom of the window. "Untouched." I examined it, finding it exactly as he said. Calloway didn't even bother to examine it as closely as I did. "So, Chief Calloway, with all due respect, how did the murderer open the window without leaving any fingerprints? Telekinesis? Or ... gloves?"

"Gloves?" Bob exclaimed. "The killer wore gloves?"

"Apparently," Rich said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Otherwise there would be fingerprints on the window and you'd know that it wasn't Rose who killed Mrs. Graham. So, that leads me to my final question. How would Rose's ring have fallen on the floor ... when she was wearing gloves?"

My jaw dropped. The thought hadn't even occurred to me; maybe Rich wasn't as helpless as I'd originally thought! Calloway looked stunned, his mouth hanging open. Rich wasn't done making a complete idiot of the chief, though. He turned to me, holding out the ring. "Dear girl, would you be so kind as to put the ring on?"

I nodded mutely, sliding the garnet ring onto my ring finger on my right hand. At Rich's urging, I pointed my fingers towards the ground and the ring slid off—the reason I'd lost it at Domiano's house. My parents had gotten it a size too big and had intended to fix it at a later date. Stupidly, I'd decided to wear it anyways.

Rich picked the ring off the cobblestone path, handing it back to me. "Now," he said, "put the ring on and the glove on over it." I did as I was told, wondering at the foolishness of the procedure. All we were going to accomplish was angering Calloway by making him look stupid.

Obviously, when I pointed my fingers towards the ground with the glove on, the ring didn't slide off. Calloway's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. I almost felt bad for him, except he had arrested me. "So you see, sir," Rich said, "the ring is a red herring."

"What if she took the glove off?"

"What, she shoots Mrs. Graham and decides, 'Oh! My hands are sweating. I should take off my glove.'" Rich snorted. "My apologies, my good man, but that is simply not logical. Only an idiot would make such an amateur mistake, and Rose Doyle is no idiot."

Calloway turned on the heel of his shiny dress shoe and started to walk away, his face beet red. Rich called after him, "Sir!" The chief turned back to him, scowling. "The staff! May I see them?"

Calloway nodded silently. Rich asked, "Where are they?"

"The kitchen. Robert, show him where it is," Calloway ordered, and stormed away.

I looked at Rich. "Jolly good, wasn't it?" he said, looking quite proud of himself. "They're going to need more solid proof than that if they want to throw you in jail for a murder you didn't commit."

I shook my head at him. "I knew I hired you for a reason," I said.

"You hired me?" Rich scratched his head. "Hiring implies that I'm being paid, dear girl."

"Don't tell me you expect to get paid!" I exclaimed, horrified. "What about blood being thicker than water and all that?"

Rich stared at me for a moment before slinging his arm over my shoulder. "Dear cousin," he said, "I expect no payment from you but the satisfaction of seeing you back in your rightful place at school. Shall we go interrogate the staff now?"