"I'd lay a pound to a penny that chap's all right," he muttered to himself. "He's not a wrong 'un—unless he's damned deceitful! All the same, he knows something! What? My conscience!—was there ever such a confounded muddle in this world as this is!"
But the muddle was a deeper one within the next few minutes. He crossed over to his hotel, and as he was entering he met Mrs. Marlow coming out, fresh, dainty, charming, as usual. She stopped at sight of him and held up the little hand-bag which hung from her wrist.
"Oh, Mr. Allerdyke!" she said, opening the bag and taking an envelope from it. "I've something for you. See—here's the photograph your cousin gave me. You were wrong, you see—there's no spot in it—it's a particularly clear print. Look!"
In Allerdyke's big palm she laid the very photograph which, according to all his reckoning, was that which Chettle had found within the cover of Lydenberg's watch.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE POSSIBLE DEATH WARRANT
"Quite a clear print, you see," repeated Mrs. Marlow brightly. "No spot there. You must have been thinking of another."
"Aye, just so," replied Allerdyke absentmindedly. "Another, yes, of course. Aye, to be sure—you're right. No spot on that, certainly."
He was talking aimlessly, confusedly, as he turned the print over in his hand, examining it back and front. And having no excuse for keeping it, he handed it back with a keen look at its owner. What the devil, he asked himself, was this mysterious woman playing at?
"I'm going to have this mounted and framed," said Mrs. Marlow, as she put the photograph back in her bag and turned to go. "I misplaced it some time ago and couldn't lay hands on it, but I came across it by accident this morning, so now I'll take care of it."