I think I knew what it was, even before I looked at it. A photograph of Anne Pendennis, identical—save that it was unframed—with that which was in the possession of the miserable old Russian, even to the initials, the inscription, and the red symbol beneath it!
CHAPTER IV
THE RIVER STEPS
“
This was found in Carson’s pocket?” I asked, steadying my voice with an effort.
He nodded.
I affected to examine the portrait closely, to gain a moment’s time. Should I tell him, right now, that I knew the original; tell him also of my strange visitant? No; I decided to keep silence, at least until after I had seen Anne, and cross-examined the old Russian again.
“Have you any clue to her identity?” I said, as I rose and replaced the blood-stained card on his desk.