“You knew Paul intimately, Guy Trenholm. Do you recognize this ring?”
He took it from her hand and Miriam moved closer to his side and examined it intently. It bore only a large and beautifully carved “M” upon it. Trenholm dropped it in Miriam’s hand and she was astonished at the ring’s weight and its massive size.
“You know the ring’s history, but Miss Ward does not,” went on Betty, as Trenholm kept silent. “This ring was Paul’s fetish—he was intensely superstitious. He declared that it would never leave his possession until he placed it on my finger.” She drew in her breath. “Paul made that statement in your presence, Guy Trenholm, and in mine, and he placed that ring on my finger during the marriage service on Monday night.”
From his leather wallet Trenholm drew a number of photographs and selected one.
“This photograph,” he said, holding it so that both girls could see it, “was taken of Paul as he lay on the undertaker’s couch in the room down the hall, and just before he was placed in the casket. You will see that he is still wearing his seal ring—in fact, his finger was so firmly bent to hold it upon his hand that we would have had to break the bone to take it off. His ring, Miss Carter, is buried with him.”
Betty stared dumbly at him. Suddenly her strength deserted her, and before Miriam could catch her she fell in a crumpled heap at their feet.
CHAPTER XIX
WHICH?
Trenholm’s noiseless pacing back and forth before Betty Carter’s bedroom door gave no evidence of the impatience consuming him. Miriam Ward had promised to join him the instant she was able to leave Betty. He had carried the unconscious girl to her room and then gone in search of Doctor Roberts, only to be told by Anna, who in her capacity of temporary maid was setting the dinner table, that Roberts and Alan Mason had gone for a motor ride in the former’s car earlier in the afternoon.
Trenholm’s restless walk drew him further and further from Betty’s room and when he finally paused he found he was standing in front of the closed door where Paul Abbott’s body had lain until the funeral. A hasty search in his pockets produced the key of the room and a second later he was inside it.
Trenholm took the pains to relock the door from the inside and to hang his handkerchief securely over the door knob, thereby obstructing Corbin’s view of the interior of the room. The caretaker had watched the sheriff from a respectful distance and, on seeing him enter and close the door, he had stolen down the hall and, first poking out the key in the lock with a slender steel instrument, he applied his eye to the keyhole, and saw nothing. With a grunt indicative of acute disappointment, Corbin slipped up to his living quarters in pursuit of his helpmate, Martha.