"This is a new complication," he said to himself, "this resemblance--they must be very like one another if their maids mix them up like this--and then Lena Sarschine calling on Lady Balscombe, I wonder if there can be any relationship between them--not likely--a lady of title, and a woman of light character--well," finished up Dowker, philosophically, "I think the best thing for me to do is to discover as much about Lena Sarschine's previous life as possible, and to do this, I'll run down to Folkestone, and look up Captain Michael Dicksfall."
[CHAPTER XII.]
A FAMILY HISTORY.
Mr. Dowker was not a man to let grass grow under his feet, so he went straight to the photographer whose name was on the back of the portrait found in Lena Sarschine's possession, and ascertained without much difficulty that it was that of Lady Balscombe.
"Now, what the deuce was that portrait doing in her desk?" he muttered, as he left the gallery, "and why should Lydia Fenny mistake it for her mistress? I wish I could get a picture of Miss Sarschine."
But he could not manage this, for, according to Lydia Fenny, Miss Sarschine would never consent to have her portrait taken, so that he had no means of learning if there was such a wonderful resemblance between the two women, except by personal description, which was not by any means satisfactory.
Under these circumstances there was only one thing to be done--see Captain Dicksfall, the father of Lena--so putting a few things together Dowker caught the afternoon train to Folkestone from Charing Cross.
Dowker duly arrived at Folkestone and took up his abode in an hotel in the Sandigate Road, where he ordered himself a pleasant little dinner and made the acquaintance of a fatherly old waiter who knew everyone and everything.
Barbers have the credit of being most notorious gossips, videlicet Figaro, and the Barber in "The Arabian Nights," but, as a matter of fact, they are not worse than waiters, who generally hear everything that's going on in their locality, and, being of a garrulous nature, do not keep their knowledge to themselves.
This waiter at the Prince's Hotel rejoiced in the name of Martin, and, hovering about Dowker, armed with a napkin and a pint bottle of Heidsieck, managed to satisfy that gentleman's curiosity concerning the existence of Captain Michael Dicksfall.