"Our plight was desperate and my uncle took the American into his confidence, and the latter agreed to carry the diamond to the United States, provided he could smuggle it aboard the transport." She sighed deeply. "I was too ill to follow all that was said, but uncle took the diamond from its hiding place and the American sat down near me and unwound a bandage from about a wound in the calf of his leg. At his direction I opened the wound, placed the diamond inside it, and, having a surgeon's field service kit which a doctor, like ourselves a refugee, had left in the hovel the day before, I sutured the wound and replaced the bandages." Trenholm stared at her. "American brains and pluck!" he exclaimed, and the admiration in his voice brought the swift color to her white cheeks. "The American had not been gone five minutes before Boris Zybinn came in, followed by a swarm of the Bolsheviki," she went on, keeping her voice steady by an effort of will only, as the tragic scene rose vividly before her. "A whisper had gotten around that Uncle Dmitri had the Paltoff diamond. They put him to torture and he died as a brave man should, without fear and without betraying the Czar's trust." "And you? What did they do to you?" demanded Trenholm, his usually calm tones betraying interest at fever heat. "The American consul came in time to save me from all but this." Drawing back her sleeve she showed a brand burned into the soft white flesh. "Thank God! I had the strength to tell Boris nothing of the diamond." Trenholm leaned forward impulsively. "I'd like to shake hands with you," he said, and the strong clasp of his fingers made her wince. There was a brief pause before he asked: "And the name of the American soldier?" Miriam drew from around her neck a gold chain from which hung a locket. Opening it she took out a tiny soiled paper. "The soldier wrote down his name and address and handed it to Uncle Dmitri," she explained. "But Boris got there before he could give it to me and it was torn up--all but this." Trenholm looked long and carefully at the one letter on the paper. "'M'," he repeated. "'M'--it is Paul Abbott's peculiar formation of his middle initial. I have seen it too often to be mistaken. And Paul Abbott, I know, saw service with the A.E.F. in Vladivostok." CHAPTER XVI THE THIRTEENTH LETTER GUY TRENHOLM raised his head. "May I keep this little paper in my safe?" he asked, taking it up. "I will return it at any time should you require it." Miriam snapped her locket shut and slipped it inside her gown. "The paper is far safer with you than with me," she replied, and sat quietly in her chair until Trenholm returned from placing it in a compartment of his safe. "It is incredible that Paul Abbott should have been the American soldier to whom Uncle Dmitri intrusted the diamond." "But not impossible," retorted Trenholm. "And the law of chance brought you to his bedside just before his death. How was it you failed to recognize him?"