“Farming,” briefly. “And nothing else. Paul wished to model his place here after Zybinn’s, especially his fruit orchard. I suppose that he kept them, for reference,” and Trenholm tossed the remaining letters on his desk table which stood almost at Miriam’s elbow.
Miriam drew back in bitter disappointment. “And that is all,” she exclaimed. “I have indeed found a mare’s nest.”
“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?”