He took a photograph from his pocket, and handed it to Varley Howard. Varley Howard looked at it listlessly, then laid it on the table.
“At Dog’s Ear Camp yesterday,” continued Mr. Pinchook, “I met a person called ‘Bill the postman.’ I—er—do not know his other name—”
“He doesn’t know it himself,” said Varley Howard in the most indolent of voices.
“He gave me an account of his finding a woman lying dead on the road between here and Dog’s Ear, and—er—informed me that he had brought the child he had found lying on her bosom to this place, and that he had intrusted her to your care.”
“Quite right,” said Varley Howard. “I cut for her at cards, and won her.”
“Er—er—so he informed me,” said Mr. Pinchook. “Now, Mr. Howard, I shall be extremely obliged if you will render me every assistance you can in this matter, and—er—tell me where I can find the daughter and heiress of our client, Mr. Gordon Chetwynde.”
Varley Howard passed his white hand over his little less white brow, and looked at the dry man of law with an impassive expression. “Over two millions, I think you said?” he remarked.
“Over two millions,” assented Mr. Pinchook, with unction.
Varley Howard got up.
“I’ll call her,” he said.