"Is it a good likeness?"
Jane examined the photograph closely. "Not what I'd call a very good one, sir, neither was the other. There's a look wanting."
"What sort of a look?"
"Well, sir, you might call it a roguish look, of a gentleman who had seen life and had been gay. This portrait is sad and horrid looking. I should have been afraid to be courted by Bernard if he had looked like this. But he was always bright and full of larks. Then he has not got a spot on his chin as he has here. I suppose he cut himself shaving when he had this done."
Durham started. Here was a means of identification. Bernard had a rather large mole on the left of his chin. "Didn't the man who walked out with you have this spot?" he said, purposely adopting the word she had used.
"No, sir. He had a chin like a new-born infant, smooth and white."
"Did he ever write you a letter?"
Jane blushed again. "Just a short note making an appointment, sir," she said, feeling in her breast, "it being early for love letters, and me being a most respectable young lady. I carry it next my heart."
Durham took the note she handed him without hesitation, and glanced through it. The writing was not unlike that of Bernard's, yet he saw very plainly that it lacked several characteristics which distinguished that of Gore. The note simply asked Jane to meet the writer on Sunday at the Marble Arch, and was signed "Bernard."
"I'll give you a sovereign for this," said Durham, quietly.