Warner examined the half-dozen photographs in amazement. They were more or less faded, not sufficiently to prevent his recognizing in them the child that Philippa had once been. He was absolutely certain that these photographs represented Philippa somewhere between the ages of five and seven.
One by one he studied them, then turned them over. On every one was written "Philippa," and the age, "four," "five," "six," on the several pictures. All were written in the same flowing feminine handwriting. The name of the photographer was the same on every picture, except on that one where the age "six" was written. That photograph had been taken in the city of Sofia in Bulgaria. The others bore the name of a photographer in the French city of Tours.
Asticot, squatting on the floor cross-legged, watched him in silence.
Finally Warner said:
"Thank you, Asticot. You have behaved with intelligence. I double your wages."
"M'sieu' is contented with his Asticot, grateful and devoted?"
"Indeed, I am!"
"Will M'sieu' permit me to go now?"
"Certainly. Do they feed and lodge you properly at the inn?"
Asticot murmured that it was heavenly, and hastily took his departure, burning with anxiety concerning the safety of the treasure he had concealed under the straw and blanket in the harness room.