Entering the hotel, he ascended to his room. In it, he mixed himself a whisky-and-soda, sat down at the writing-table, and unlocked a despatch-box.
He took out two photographs—each of a remarkably beautiful woman.
Under one was neatly written—
Colette d'Orsel. Nice. August 1900.
And under the other—
Margaret McCall. Boston. Dec. 1910.
From his pocket he took the photograph which the inspector had allowed him to appropriate, and laid it beside the others. The face that smiled up at him was the most beautiful of the three.
He dipped a pen in the ink, and wrote under it, in the same neat handwriting—
Christine Manderson. London. July 1919.