“That bump on the head confused you, Flash,” Doyle said anxiously. “Maybe you ought to see a doctor.”
“You think I’m out of my head?”
“Only on that one subject. You’ve been suspicious of Rascomb ever since you met him.”
“And for a mighty good reason. I suppose you’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you that Rascomb and Fleur locked me up in the lodge.”
“What?” Doyle demanded incredulously.
“After he left you, Rascomb came back. He boasted that he intended to pull off a final deal and skip the country. Take a look at this!”
Flash drew the picture of Albert Povy from his pocket and slapped it on the table before Doyle’s startled eyes.
“Where did you get this, Flash?”
“In Rascomb’s desk!”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” Doyle muttered. “There is a marked resemblance I’ll admit, but Rascomb has no scar.”