The banker’s dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber, with a

grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. Holmes went to the bureau first

and looked hard at the lock.


“Which key was used to open it?” he asked.


“That which my son himself indicated—that of the cupboard of the

lumber-room.”


“Have you it here?”


“That is it on the dressing-table.”


Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.


“It is a noiseless lock,” said he. “It is no wonder that it

did not wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must have a

look at it.” He opened the case, and taking out the diadem he laid it

upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen of the jeweller’s art, and

the thirty-six stones were the finest that I have ever seen. At one side of the

coronet was a cracked edge, where a corner holding three gems had been torn

away.


“Now, Mr. Holder,” said Holmes, “here is the corner which

corresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I beg that you

will break it off.”


The banker recoiled in horror. “I should not dream of trying,” said

he.


“Then I will.” Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but

without result. “I feel it give a little,” said he; “but,

though I am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my time

to break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do you think would

happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would be a noise like a pistol

shot. Do you tell me that all this happened within a few yards of your bed and

that you heard nothing of it?”


“I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me.”


“But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think, Miss

Holder?”


“I confess that I still share my uncle’s perplexity.”


“Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?”


“He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt.”


“Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary luck