“Can you tell me,” he asked, and all three of his hearers felt the excitement in his tone. “Can you remember, Miss Lightfoot, anything peculiar about this old man’s ears?”
“Yes, I—I can, Mr. Davis. I did notice them, particularly. They were small, set close to his head and absolutely lobeless. Also, with the single exception of Napoleon’s death mask, which I saw in New Orleans last year, I had never seen ears set so low on a person’s head. The top of both this man’s ears and those of the great French Emperor were on a line with the outside corners of their eyes!”
Mr. Davis leaned back in his chair, an oddly puzzled frown on his handsome features. “Miss Lightfoot,” he said slowly, “you will understand and pardon me when I say you are a very remarkable young woman—with a very fine memory.”
“I’m afraid I can’t agree with you, Mr. Davis. If my memory was really good, I could place the man. From the moment I glimpsed his face, I had a feeling that I’d seen him somewhere. Yet I haven’t the slightest idea where it could have been.”
“But you have told me who he is, just the same, hard as it is to believe the truth!”
“You know his name?” exclaimed Bill and Deborah simultaneously.
“I most certainly do. What’s more, I am pretty sure I know where Miss Lightfoot saw him—Excuse me for a moment.” He stood up. “I’m going downstairs, but I’ll be right back. In the meantime, I don’t want you young people to talk any more. Miss Lightfoot needs a rest and she must have it.”
He went swiftly out of the room and Deborah, now that further conversation was unnecessary, closed her eyes and lay back on the pillows. Bill sat, lost in thought, until Mr. Davis returned in a surprisingly short time.
In his hand he carried the Sunday roto-gravure section of a New York newspaper. Deborah looked up as he spread out the page and held it before her.
“Do you see your abductor here?”