"As far as the letters go," agreed Trenholm, with characteristic frankness. "But there is another matter of vital importance," he glanced carefully about the room, sprang up and closed both of the doors, one of which led into the main hall and the other into a smaller room, where he generally conducted business. When he came back to Miriam he moved his chair closer to her side. "You know of the Paltoff diamond?" he asked. "Yes. I have heard its history often from my uncle," she replied. "It was given by one of his ancestors to Peter the Great." "To purchase royal favor," supplemented Trenholm "And forms one of the Crown jewels." "You are wrong," she corrected him swiftly. "It is not a Crown jewel, but it has always been in the possession of the reigning Czar, handed down from father to son." "And where is it now, Miss Ward?" The swift question took her unawares and she grew pale. "I do not know," she stated, and her eyes did not falter before his searching glance. "Frankly, I do not know its present whereabouts." "There is a rumor that it was smuggled out of Russia." Trenholm never took his eyes from her. "Can you tell me if that is true?" She did not at once reply and he did not hurry her. "Why do you ask?" she demanded finally. "What is your interest in the Paltoff diamond?" "This!" Trenholm opened his leather wallet and took from it a folded note. "Read it." Slowly Miriam took in the sense of the written sentence: Let him who hopes to solve the mystery of Paul Abbott's death find the lost Paltoff jewel. "What!" She half rose from her chair, then dropped back again. Her face was ghastly and Trenholm watched her in growing concern. "Who wrote this note?" "I do not know. I found it in the pocket of my overcoat when I returned from Paul's funeral." Trenholm paused. "The handwriting is unfamiliar." He doubted if Miriam heard his last sentence; she kept so quiet, so immovable. Suddenly she pressed her fingers to her eyes and when she took them away, the lids were wet. She looked at him long and searchingly. Could she trust him? She _must_--there was no other course open to her. "I will tell you in confidence what I know of the Paltoff diamond," she said. "But you must pledge me your word not to repeat it." "I give you my word," Trenholm held out his hand, and as she felt his strong, steady clasp her heart lightened and her sense of utter loneliness grew less. "I will be as brief as possible." She paused to clear her throat of a suspicious lump. "My father, John Ward of Indianapolis, was in the Diplomatic service, and stationed for a long time in Russia, where we lived with my aunt and her husband. After father's death, mother and I came to New York. She was a great invalid and did not long survive him." She stumbled in her speech and stopped, and Trenholm gave her a moment to collect herself. "Yes?" he prompted gently. "Continue."