He turned the pages rapidly ... then....
“There!” triumphantly, “look at that.”
I looked.
There was the Test Match photograph he had described to me, and next to it, just as he had said, was the face of Marshall, and underneath it I was amazed to read—“Constance Webb, wife of ‘Spider’ Webb, the famous jewel thief of three countries, leaving the Central Criminal Court, at the conclusion of her husband’s trial. He was sentenced to five years’ penal servitude.”
CHAPTER IX
MR. BATHURST CALLS UPON THE POSTMISTRESS
“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “That settles it. A topping shot of yours, Anthony!”
“Not so bad,” he admitted. “But not exactly a shot—I remembered the face and the associations. Spare my blushes.”
“Ole Baddeley will listen with both ears when you show him this,” I continued. “In a way I’m glad it’s turned out like this ... it was a pretty ghastly thought to imagine that anybody in the house could have been the guilty party. But this settles it.”
“Settles what, Bill?”
“Why—the affair—Prescott of course! Why do you ask?”