“Do I know him?” she repeated. “Of course I do. It is he—the man who came here that night.”
“Are you quite sure?” I asked. “Are you certain that it is not just a chance resemblance?”
She shook her head emphatically. “It is he, Stephen. I can swear to him. It is no mere resemblance. It is a likeness, and a perfect one, though it is such a bad photograph. But where did you get it? And why didn’t you show it to me when you came in?”
I told her how I came by it and explained Thorndyke’s instructions.
“Then,” she said, “Dr. Thorndyke knows who the man is.”
“He says he doesn’t, and he was very close and rather obscure as to how the photograph came into his possession.”
“It is very mysterious,” said she, with another terrified glance at the photograph. Then suddenly she snatched it up and with averted face held it out to me. Put it away, Stephen,” she entreated. “I can’t bear the sight of that horrible face. It brings back afresh all the terrors of that awful night.”
I hastily returned the photograph to my letter-case, and, taking her arm, led her back to the work-table. “Now,” I said, “let us forget it and get on with our work;” and I proceeded to turn the case over and fix it in the new position with lumps of clay. For a little while she watched me in silence, and I could see by her pallor that she was still suffering from the shock of that unexpected encounter. But presently she picked up a scraper and joined me in trimming up the edges of the case, cutting out the “key-ways” and making ready for the second half; and by degrees her colour came back and the interest of the work banished her terrors.
We were, in fact, extremely industrious. We not only finished the case—it was an arm from the shoulder which was to be made—cut the pouring-holes, and varnished the inside with knotting, but we filled one-half with the melted gelatine which was to form the actual mould in which the wax would be cast. This brought the day’s work to an end, for nothing more could be done until the gelatine had set—a matter of at least twelve hours.
“It is too late to begin anything fresh,” said Marion. “You had better come and have supper with me and Arabella.”