"Then I can only say that young Haverleigh seems to be the most likely person. Only, the evidence against him is so plain that I believe him to be guiltless. I always mistrust too plain evidence, Raston. It shows signs of having been prepared. Well, I'll see this young man to-morrow, and have a chat. I go by the face a great deal. Have you a photograph of him?"
"No," said the curate on the spur of the moment. "Oh, yes, by the way! I took a group of our people at a picnic. It is not a bad picture, although small. You can see the whole lot at a glance."
Raston got out the photograph, and Marton went to the lamp to see it the more plainly. He glanced at first carelessly at it, then his eyes grew large, his attention became fixed. At that moment there was a ring at the door. Marton looked at the clock. "You have a late visitor," he said.
"A call to see some sick woman probably. Why do you look so closely at that picture, Marton?"
"There is a face here I know. Who is that?"
Raston looked. "That is the man with whom Haverleigh is staying. Pratt!"
"Pratt?" repeated Marton in a thoughtful tone. "Has he a tattooed star on his cheek just under the cheek bone?"
"Yes. And he is tattooed on the arm also—the right arm. I expect he had it done while he was a sailor."
"Oh!" said Marton, dryly, "he says he was a sailor."
"Not to my knowledge; but he has mentioned something of being an amateur one. Do you know him, Marton?"