"There is one more party who comes in for recognition—a young man."
"Name him," said the representative. "I am prepared to liberally reward every one who aided in the recovery of these precious heirlooms."
"I will not name the party. I will show you his picture, and you can probably identify him yourself."
Our hero had secured the photograph of Alphonse Donetti. He handed it to the representative in a careless manner, saying:
"That is a picture of the young man, and to him we are under great obligations in this matter."
The instant the Italian saw and fixed his eyes on the picture he recoiled like one gazing at a ghost. His eyes fairly bulged. He turned pale, trembled like an aspen leaf, and attempted to speak, but his tongue appeared to cleave to the roof of his mouth. He was unable to speak. Oscar stood by, a look of delight and gratification expressed upon his handsome face.
The detective waited. He desired to give the Italian time to recover his composure, and finally, when the latter was able to speak, he asked in gasping tones:
"Is the original of this picture alive?"
"He is."
"His name?"