The scene was a door-step with a number over the door—a man was descending—the lower part of his body could not be seen, but his body and head were well taken. He carried something under his arm like a flat book.
Eric Darrell studied the face as well as he could upon such a small surface—he wanted to know it again.
Then he looked further.
Just above, a lady stood outside the door, as if seeing the gentleman depart. It was Lillian Leslie without a doubt.
“How in the deuce did you get this?” he asked in some surprise, “it’s as clever a piece of business as I know of.”
“I hired a young fellow to do it for me. He took this man several times afterward. See, there is one that shows his face better, because there is little else—it was taken close.”
Darrell examined this picture also.
“Seems to me I’ve seen this man on the street or somewhere—I can’t just place him though,” he muttered.
“Is there anything more you wish to tell me, Joe,” he asked aloud.
“Unfortunately—yes.”