He followed me down to the street without a word, though I could see how his hand trembled as he took down his hat. I myself was quivering from head to foot with excitement—with triumph. What a blind fool I had been not to suspect it long ago. Godfrey had never seen Curtiss, or he would have known the instant his eyes rested on that photograph!
Luckily, the journey was not a long one, or I could not have kept the secret.
"Sit there," I said, when we reached my room, and I motioned him to a chair near the table. I turned down the light and arranged my properties—let me confess at once to a secret liking for the dramatic—the unexpected. Then I turned up the light.
"Now look at them," I said, and pointed to the three photographs placed side by side before him.
He stared at them—at Marcia Lawrence; at Burr Curtiss, smooth-faced and girlish; at the soubrette....
I knew by the sudden deep breath he drew that he understood. There could be no mistaking. Feature for feature they would not match at all; but there was a tone, an expression, that little way of holding the head....
"Of course," he said slowly, at last. "Of course."
How easily it explained Marcia Lawrence's panic, her flight—there could be no marriage, no explanation—only flight!
"There's one crucial test," I said, glancing at my watch. "I'll make it this very evening."