At the end of the ten minutes, when Kent opened both eyes, his friend forestalled him with another query.
“You say that no jewels were found on the body. Was there any other mark of identification?”
“If there was, the sheriff got away with it before I saw it.”
“How can you be sure, then, that the dead woman was my visitor?”
“Dennett mentioned a necklace. On the crushed flesh of the dead woman’s neck there is the plain impress of a jewel setting. Now, come, Sedgwick! If I’m to help you in this, you must help me. Had you ever seen that necklace before?”
“Yes,” was the reply, given with obvious reluctance.
“Where?”
“On the neck of the girl of my picture.”
Kent’s fingers went to his ear, pulling at the lobe until that unoffending pendant stretched like rubber. “You’re sure?” he asked.
“There couldn’t be any mistake. The stones were matched rose-topazes; you mightn’t find another like it in the whole country.”