I glanced at the memento indicated, and observed that it contained a photograph of Mr. Hines (without the sticking-plaster).
"An excellent likeness of yourself, too," I remarked.
"It's not bad," said he disparagingly; "it was done by one of the big people up in London. The girl paid for it."
"But even that," I pursued—"even that is not so remarkable a gift as this valuable piece of jewelry which I hold in my hand."
"No," said the youth, now restored to the utmost good-humor by my undisguised admiration of his Don Juan-like qualities. "But the fact remains that I don't know her name to this day. What did you mean," he continued, "when you said that I was concerned in some way in 'the Oritoga mystery'?"
"I meant," I explained, "that the police are looking for a woman who answers to the description of your friend."
"Really!" he cried. "A tall woman, very fine figure, beautifully dressed?"
"I think it is probably the same," I said. "Had she any peculiarities of appearance or manner by which you would recognize her again?"
"She had several peculiarities by which I should recognize her," he declared, a note of resentment now proclaiming itself in his voice.
"And they were?"