Back in the duke's library, James asked for a clean cloth, a bright lamp, and a pair of fine tweezers. He did not allow Sir Lionel to touch the watch. Clara placed her hands on either side of the table and showed him where her father had made a concealed fastening, so delicate that it looked like part of the decoration. James released it with a quiet click. Beneath the movement was a shallow space, holding a slip of thin paper folded into a square smaller than a postage stamp.
He unfolded the paper carefully, with the same attention he might have given an order written aboard a ship in a storm. It contained a date, a serial number, a short account of temperature trials, and the signature of Arthur Pritchard, the former Admiralty examiner. In the margin, Edmund Whitcomb had written that a genuine W-17 must contain the six-pointed compensating wheel, its sixth tooth divided and curved, and the twin jewel mounts shown in his original drawing. The watch itself displayed precisely those features, working before the eyes of everyone in the room.
"A copied paper," Sir Lionel said. His voice was steady, but the color had begun to leave his cheeks. "Nothing more. The young lady has spent two years nursing a fantasy." James looked at him over the lamp. "It may be a copy," he said. "It may also be the only account of the original trials that has not passed through your office. We shall compare it with the records before either of us claims certainty."
Lady Beatrice shut her fan with a sharp click. "Surely you are not going to make a public scandal of this, Captain?" James turned to her. "There was already a public scandal. A ship was lost, men died, and a tradesman's name was destroyed. The question is whether we were given the right man to blame." At the back of the library, the duke called for his secretary and instructed him to copy the date and number while witnesses remained present.
Clara saw Sir Lionel's gaze moving between the paper and the door. She realized then that her father had been right about one thing she had barely dared to believe: somebody was afraid of what the small watch could reveal. Yet fear in a rich man's eyes was not the same as justice, and the Duke of Bellmont could not restore a reputation by simply declaring it restored. James closed the watch and placed it back in Clara's hands.
"I gave evidence at your father's inquiry," he said quietly, while the company began to talk in low, urgent groups. "I know," Clara replied. He looked at her without flinching. "You have every reason to distrust me. I will examine what can be examined, and I will tell the truth whatever it costs me." Clara looked at the scar above his brow. "That is what I asked for when I came. I did not ask you to like him."