"Well, yes," replied Fanks, thoughtfully; "but that does not explain why she went away when she saw me."
"I can only surmise that she did not wish to explain what brought her there, and so tell the tale of her sister's death to a stranger."
"No, there is more in it than that," said the detective, remembering that Anne had been among the crowd on the night of the murder; "but we will talk of this hereafter. In the meantime, let us return to the main object of my visit, and show me this famous cross."
Hersham made no objection to this request, and removed his coat. Rolling up his sleeve he exposed the cross tattooed on the flesh of the left forearm. It was a St. Catherine cross, the size of a florin, and Fanks examined it long and carefully. "Did you get that tattooed at school?" he asked when Hersham had resumed his coat.
"I did not get it done at all. I have had it ever since I can remember; and I have asked my father often about it, but he cannot, or will not, give me any information."
"He will not most probably. Are you sure that there is no story attached to the tattooing?"
"None that I know of; but my father might be better informed."
"Would your mother know?"
"I have no mother; she died when I was a baby."
"Strange," muttered Fanks, pensively; "it is strange that you should have this mark on you and yet be ignorant of its significance. I wish you would speak to your father about it."