Trenholm turned the picture around and pointed to a watch, a tiny affair, which was firmly held in the canvas by a clever contrivance. He drew out the watch with a careful hand, the others watching him breathlessly.
“The first word of the code is ‘watch.’ Here it is,” Trenholm held up the antique watch. “The next two words, ‘thirteenth letter,’ which is ‘M’, you will find is the initial engraved on the back of the watch; and the last two words, ‘suicide’s grave,’ exemplified by this picture of Colonel Mason’s grave.” Trenholm turned to Betty and asked: “Did you not tell Zybinn that you chanced to see Paul remove the works from this watch?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Zybinn asked me if the watch was too old to keep accurate time and I told him Paul had taken it apart.”
“So that was it,” and Trenholm nodded. “Paul removed the works from the watch because he evidently judged it to be an admirable hiding place for—”
“The Paltoff diamond!” shouted Roberts.
For answer Trenholm opened the watch. Inside the round hollow lay a wad of cotton—and on top of it the lost jewel.
They gathered about the table, even Roberts, forgetful for a brief second that he was handcuffed, and gazed at the beautiful gem, dazzled by its luster and purity.
Trenholm was the first to speak. “Paul knew little rest after the Paltoff diamond was intrusted to his care. He was constantly haunted by a morbid fear of losing it or of being robbed of it, so that he could never be induced to exhibit it.”
“He showed it to Betty and to me,” declared Mrs. Nash, breaking her long silence. “And swore us to absolute secrecy. I greatly feared,” she added, “that Betty was in some way mixed up in the tragedy and my husband’s extraordinary denial of their presence here on Monday, when Pierre had brought me Betty’s telegram to Paul, fed my imagination—and—and—I dropped that note to you, Mr. Trenholm, and—” not meeting her husband’s reproachful glance, but looking instead at Miriam—“I took surreptitious doses of phenacetin and accidentally overdid it and nearly killed myself, but,” with a return of her old arrogant air, “I was determined to find out what was going on in this house, whatever the consequences.”
“I see,” Trenholm concealed a smile, and then grew grave. “The usual ill-luck, apparently inseparable from the possession of great diamonds, has overtaken Paul,” he said sorrowfully. “He remained true to his trust and never parted with the jewel. Miss Ward,” with an abruptness which startled her from her study of Roberts, whose eyes had never left the diamond, “your uncle, M. Paltoff, gave the gem to Paul—they are both dead—what do you wish done with it?”