He opened the first of these; the photograph of a military-looking man in Russian uniform lay upon the top. Poltavo saw it, gasped, and looked up, his face livid.
"That was the Military Governor of Poland," said T. B., easily; "he was assassinated by one who posed as his son many years ago."
The Count had risen quickly, and stood shaking from head to foot, his trembling hand at his mouth.
"I have never seen him," he muttered. "I think your record office is very close—you have no ventilation."
"Wait a little," said T. B., and he turned to the second dossier.
Presently he extracted another photograph, the photograph of a young man, a singularly good-looking youth, and laid it on the table by the side of the other picture.
"Do you know this gentleman?" asked T. B.
There was no reply.
"It is the photograph of the murderer," the detective went on, "and unfortunately this was not his only crime. You will observe there are two distinct folders, each filled with particulars of our young friend's progress along the path which leads to the gallows."
He sorted out another photograph. It was a beautiful girl in a Russian peasant costume; evidently the portrait of some one taken at a fancy dress ball, because both the refined face and the figure of the girl were inconsistent with the costume.