“Which,” said Thorndyke, “is a really important fact and one that is worth looking into.”
“In what way is it important?” I asked.
“In this respect,” he answered. “This man, Morris, is unknown to Miss D’Arblay; but he was not unknown to her father. Here we have evidence that Mr. D’Arblay had dealings with people of whom his daughter had no knowledge. The circumstances of the murder made it clear that there must be such people; but here we have proof of their existence, and we can give to one of them ‘a local habitation and a name.’ And you will notice that this particular person is a dealer in curios and possibly in more questionable things. There is just a hint that he may have had some rather queer acquaintances.”
“He seemed to have had rather a fancy for plaster masks,” I remarked. “I remember that he had one in his shop window.”
“Did your father make many life or death masks as commissions, Miss D’Arblay?” Thorndyke asked.
“Only one or two, so far as I know,” she replied. “There is very little demand for portrait masks nowadays. Photography has superseded them.”
“That is what I should have supposed,” said he. “This would be just a chance commission. However, as it establishes the fact that this man Morris was in some way connected with your father, I think I should like to have a record of his appearance. May I take this mask away with me to get a photograph of it made? I will take great care of it, and let you have it back safely.”
“Certainly,” replied Marion; “but why not keep it, if it is of any interest to you? I have no use for it.”
“That is very good of you,” said he; “and if you will give me some rag and paper to pack it in, I will take myself off, and leave you to finish your work in peace.”
Marion took the cast from him, and, having procured some rag and paper, began very carefully to wrap it up. While she was thus engaged, Thorndyke stood, letting his eye travel once more round the studio.