“Well, then, I am ashamed to confess it, but I put the photo in my pocket, and forgot all about it until I had recognized the man, and pulled out the likeness to make sure. I didn’t even know there was a printed description at the foot, nor that any member was wanting. Confound it, Brand! I’m not such a duffer as you think.”
Brand did not retaliate. He turned to his friend and said gravely, “To me the matter is inexplicable. Take your own course, as I promised you should.” Then he sat down, looking deliciously crest-fallen, and wearing the discontented expression always natural to him when worsted in argument.
It was now Carriston’s turn. He plied me with many questions. In fact, I gave him the whole history of my adventure. “What kind of house is it?” he asked.
“Better than a cottage—scarcely a farm-house. A place, I should think, with a few miserable acres of bad land belonging to it. One of those wretched little holdings which are simply curses to the country.”
He made lots of other inquiries, the purport of which I could not then divine. He seemed greatly impressed when I told him that the man had never for a moment left me alone. He shot a second glance of triumph at Brand, who still kept silent, and looked as if all the wind had been taken out of his sails.
“How far is the place?” asked Carriston. “Could you drive me there after dark?”
At this question the doctor returned to life. “What do you mean to do?” he asked his friend. “Let us have no nonsense. Even now I feel sure that Fenton is mislead by some chance resemblance—”
“Deuce a bit, old chap,” I said.
“Well, whether or not, we needn’t do foolish things. We must go and swear information, and get a search-warrant, and the assistance of the police. The truth is, Richard,” he continued, turning to me, “we have reason to believe, or I should say Carriston persists in fancying, that a friend of his has for some time been kept in durance by the man whom you say you recognized.”
“Likely enough,” I said. “He looked villain enough for anything up to murder.”