“She seems to answer the description,” said Jennie.
“So I thought,” admitted the detective, “and I sent the portrait to Lord Donal. See what he has written on the back.”
Jennie turned the picture over, and there under the inscription, “H. Supposed photo of the missing woman,” was written in a bold hand, “Bosh! Read my description of the girl; this is evidently some Paris lady’s maid.”
“Well, what did you do when you got this picture back?” asked Jennie.
“I remembered you, and went to the office of the Daily Bugle. This brings us to the present moment. You have now the whole story, and I shall be very pleased to listen to any suggestions you are good enough to offer.”
The girl sat where she was for a few moments and pondered over the situation. The detective, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, regarded her with eager anticipation. The more Jennie thought over the matter, the more she was amazed at the man before her, who seemed unable to place two and two together. He had already spoken of the account of the ball which had appeared in the Daily Bugle; of its accuracy and its excellence; he knew that she was a member of the Bugle staff, yet it had never occurred to him to inquire who wrote that description; he knew also that she had been a guest at the Schloss Steinheimer when the invitation to the ball must have reached the Princess. These facts were so plainly in evidence that the girl was afraid to speak lest some chance word would form the connecting link between the detective’s mind and the seemingly palpable facts. At last she looked up, the colour coming and going in her cheeks, as Lord Donal had so accurately described it.
“I don’t think I can be of any assistance to you in this crisis, Mr. Taylor. You have already done everything that human ingenuity can suggest.”
“Yes, I have—everything that my human ingenuity can suggest. But does nothing occur to you? have you no theory to put forward?”
“None that would be of any practical advantage. Is Lord Donal certain that it was not the Princess herself whom he met? Are you thoroughly convinced that there was really an impersonation?”
“What do you mean, Miss Baxter?”