“I’ve been trying all morning to have a talk, Colonel,” he said, carefully closing the door and glancing about. “There have been some new developments in Monroe’s case, in fact there have been so many that I have put in the time while waiting for you, by writing down every particle of new testimony in the affair.” He took from his pocket some written pages and laid them on the table, and beside them a small oval frame. “They are for your inspection, Colonel. I have no opinion I care to express on the matter. I have only written down Miss Loring’s statements, and the picture speaks for itself.”
McVeigh stared at him.
“What do you mean by Miss Loring’s statement?––and what is this?”
He had lifted the little frame, and looked at Masterson, who had resolutely closed his lips and shook his head. He meant that McVeigh should see for himself.
The cover flew back as he touched the spring, and a girl’s face, dark, bright, looked out at him. It was delicately 375 tinted and the work was well done. He had a curious shock as the eye met his. There was something so familiar in the poise of the head and the faint smile lurking at the corner of the mouth.
There was no mistaking the likeness; it looked as Judithe might possibly have looked at seventeen. He had never seen her with that childish, care-free light of happiness in her eyes; she had always been thoughtful beyond her years, but in this picture––
“Where did you get this?” he asked, and his face grew stern for an instant, as Masterson replied:
“In Captain Monroe’s pocket.”
He opened his lips to speak, but Masterson pointed to the paper.
“It is all written there, Colonel; I really prefer you should read that report first, and then question me if you care to. I have written each thing as it occurred. You will see Miss Loring has also signed her name to it, preferring you would accept that rather than be called upon for a personal account. Your mother is, of course, ignorant of all this––”