The contrast between his peaceful, pale face and the silvery hair curling at the temples, and ugly, oozing gash, made Mannering’s eyes sting. He still saw that mind picture of Lorna. ‘Don’t touch anything!’ Bristow barked. Mannering groped in his waistcoat pocket, took out a pair of silver tweezers, and said: ‘This won’t damage anything.’ Bristow wasn’t feeling so good, or he would have ordered him out. Mannering gripped the big diamond between the ends of the tweezers and gently drew it from Leverson’s grasp. There were several other jewels; he’d died protecting them. ‘Is it real?’ Bristow demanded. Mannering took the diamond to the window. It had a faint red tinge, and, photographed, would have been identical with the real Adalgo. He turned it round and round. The light was poor but a real diamond would have scintillated more than this did. ‘Paste,’ he said.
