The photograph was wrapped in a piece of tissue paper, and Saul Arthur Mann opened it eagerly. He looked at the oblong card and gasped, for the girl who was depicted there was the girl he had seen on the steps of 69 Flowerton Road.
A telephone message prepared Frank for the news, and an hour later the two men were together in the office of the bureau.
“I am going along to that house to see the girl,” said Saul Arthur Mann. “Will you come?”
“With all the pleasure in life,” said Frank. “Curiously enough, I am as eager to find her as you. I remember her very well, and one of the quarrels I had with my uncle was due to her. She had come up to the house on behalf of her father, and I thought uncle treated her rather brutally.”
“Point number one cleared up,” thought Saul Arthur Mann.
“Then she disappeared,” Frank went on, “and Jasper came on the scene. There was some association between this girl and Jasper, which I have never been able to fathom. All I know is that he took a tremendous interest in her and tried to find her, and, so far as I remember, he never succeeded.”
Mr. Mann’s car was at the door, and in a few minutes they were deposited before the prim exterior of Number 69.
The door was opened by a girl servant, who stared from Saul Arthur Mann to his companion.
“There is a lady living here,” said Mr. Mann.
He produced the photograph.
“This is the lady?”
The girl nodded, still staring at Frank.
“I want to see her.”
“She’s gone,” said the girl.
“You are looking at me very intently,” said Frank. “Have you ever seen me before?”
“Yes, sir,” said the girl; “you used to come here, or a gentleman very much like you. You are Mr. Merrill.”
“That is my name,” smiled Frank, “but I do not think I have ever been here before.”
“Where has the lady gone?” asked Saul Arthur.
“She went last night. Took all her boxes and went off in a cab.”
“Is anybody living in the house?”
“No, sir,” said the girl.
“How long have you been in service here?”
“About a week, sir,” replied the girl.
“We are friends of hers,” said Saul Arthur shamelessly, “and we have been asked to call to see if everything is all right.”
The girl hesitated, but Saul Arthur Mann, with that air of authority which he so readily assumed, swept past her and began an inspection of the house.
It was plainly furnished, but the furniture was good.
“Apparently the spurious Mr. Merrill had plenty of money,” said Saul Arthur Mann.
There were no photographs or papers visible until they came to the bedroom, where, in the grate, was a torn sheet of paper bearing a few lines of fine writing, which Mr. Mann immediately annexed. Before they left, Frank again asked the girl:
“Was the gentleman who lived here really like me?”
“Yes, sir,” said the little slavey.
“Have a good look at me,” said Frank humorously, and the girl stared again.
“Something like you,” she admitted.
“Did he talk like me?”
“I never heard him talk, sir,” said the girl.
“Tell me,” said Saul Arthur Mann, “was he kind to his wife?”
A faint grin appeared on the face of the little servant.
“They was always rowing,” she admitted. “A bullying fellow he was, and she was frightened of him. Are you the police?” she asked with sudden interest.
Frank shook his head.
“No, we are not the police.”
He gave the girl half a crown, and walked down the steps ahead of his companion.
“It is rather awkward if I have a double who bullies his wife and lives in Camden Town,” he said as the car hummed back to the city office.
Saul Arthur Mann was silent during the journey, and only answered in monosyllables.
Again in the privacy of his office, he took the torn letter and carefully pieced it together on his desk. It bore no address, and there were no affectionate preliminaries:
You must get out of London. Saul Arthur Mann saw you both today. Go to the old place and await instructions.
There was no signature, but across the table the two men looked at one another, for the writing was the writing of Jasper Cole.
XVI
The Coming of Sergeant Smith
Jasper Cole at that moment was trudging through the snow to the little chalet which May Nuttall had taken on the slope of the mountain overlooking Chamonix. The sleigh which had brought him up from the station was at the foot of the rise. May saw him from the veranda, and coo-ooed a welcome. He stamped the snow from his boots and ran up the steps of the veranda to meet her.
“This is a very pleasant surprise,” she said, giving him both her hands and looking at him approvingly. He had lost much of his pallor, and his face was tanned and healthy, though a little fine drawn.
“It was rather a mad thing to do, wasn’t it?” he confessed ruefully.
“You are such a confirmed bachelor, Jasper, that I believe you hate doing anything outside your regular routine. Why did you come all the way from Holland to the Haute Savoie?”
He had followed her into the warm and cozy sitting room, and was warming his chilled fingers by the big log fire which burned on the hearth.
“Can you ask? I came to see you.”
“And how are all the experiments going?”
She turned him to another topic in some hurry.
“There have been no experiments since last month; at least not the kind of experiments you mean. The one in which I have been engaged has been very successful.”
“And what was that?” she asked curiously.
“I will tell you one of these days,” he said.
He was staying at the Hôtel des Alpes, and hoped to be a week in Chamonix. They chatted about the weather, the early snow which had covered the valley in a mantle of white, about the tantalizing behavior of Mont
