“And the one set in your vanity case — who gave you that one?”
“Mr. McNair.”
“Astonishing. I wouldn’t have supposed you cared for diamonds.” Wolfe opened a bottle of beer and filled his glass. “You mustn’t mind me, Miss Frost. I mean, my seeming inconsequence. A servant girl named Anna Fiore sat in that chair once and conversed with me for five hours. The Duchess of Rathkyn did so for most of a night. I am apt to poke into almost any corner, and I beg you to bear with me.” He lifted the glass and emptied it in par. “For instance, this diamond business is curious. Do you like them?”
“I don’t... not ordinarily.”
“Is Mr. McNair fond of them? Does he make gifts of them more or less at random?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And although you don’t like them, you wear these out of... respect for Mr. McNair? Affection for an old friend?”
“I wear them because I happen to feel like it.”
“Just so. You see, I know very little about Mr. McNair. Is he married?”
“As I told you, he is an old friend of my mother’s. A lifelong friend. He had a daughter about my age, a month or so older, but she died when she was two years old. His wife had died before, when the baby was born. Mr. McNair is the finest man I have ever known. He is... he is my best friend.”