“If he hasn’t, I have,” Penny interposed. She took the small package from her dress pocket, giving it to Rosanna to unwrap for her.
“Why, it’s a photograph!” the girl exclaimed. “It’s of you, Mr. Eckert, taken many years ago.”
“Look on the back,” Penny directed.
Rosanna turned the picture over and read the bold scrawl:
“Jacob Winters—on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday.”
“That’s all the proof I need,” Rosanna cried, her eyes shining. “You are my uncle, aren’t you, Mr. Eckert? This isn’t another of your jokes?”
“No, it isn’t a joke this time, Rosanna, although for a time it looked as if the joke would be on me. And if it hadn’t been for Penny Nichols this scoundrel certainly would have made off with my ivory collection.”
“I didn’t mean to pry into your private affairs,” Penny apologized. “I shouldn’t have taken the photograph only I suspected the truth and needed proof of it.”
“It’s just as well that you did take matters into your own hands. I guess I botched things up.”
The little package of evidence which Penny had produced contained not only the photograph but the letter and key which she had found in Max Laponi’s room.