The army man displayed the photograph which Flash had given him a few minutes before, but did not place it in Rascomb’s outstretched hand.
“Oh, that picture,” the sportsman said carelessly. “I found it among Povy’s personal effects. His luggage was sent to me after I claimed the body.”
“And why were you so interested in Povy?” pursued Captain Johns. “I must say that you bear a remarkable resemblance to him.”
Rascomb drew a deep sigh.
“I had hoped to be spared this confession,” he said. “Povy was distantly related to me—a second cousin. You may be sure I never was proud of the kinship. I knew my cousin had an unsavory reputation, and his activities never ceased to alarm and embarrass me. Heartless as it may seem, his death came as a relief to me.”
“You changed your story,” observed Flash. “Yesterday Povy was a stranger you befriended.”
“I told you that, I admit. However, I considered your questions somewhat impertinent. And I never have willingly admitted my relationship to Albert Povy. He was the one black sheep in an otherwise honorable and distinguished family.”
The telephone rang. Mr. Gordon arose to answer it.
“For you, Captain,” he announced.
Captain Johns glanced at his watch and picked up the receiver.