“I’ve known such cases,” Mr. Quickjohn resumed, with a dangerous approach to reminiscence which happily passed off. “However, I was pretty satisfied, after putting a number of searching questions, that the party I had to look for was not one of the criminal classes, but in all probability, a bona fide guest. Now, a curious thing happened, Mr. Herriard, which I didn’t think much of at the time, though it occurred to me afterwards to follow up the clue. We were sitting there in my parlour over a cigar and a glass of grog, and I was drawing Campion out, trying him backwards and forwards to get everything he could tell me of the man’s appearance and manner. Well, we were sitting, as I say, in my parlour, and I’ve a lot of photos put about there, portraits of Judges and well-known counsel that I’ve come in contact with in various cases,—I’ve a framed sketch of yourself, Mr. Herriard, done in Court by a friend of mine clever with his pencil—well, I was worrying Campion about the very minutest details of this man’s appearance, when suddenly he caught sight of a photo on the wall, and he says, ‘There,’ he says, ‘the chap I saw had a face just like that, and if that isn’t the man——’ I jumped round in my chair and looked to where he was pointing. ‘That,’ I said, ‘that’s not exactly our man, my friend, although, it is curious, I’ve never seen another face like that. That is the late Mr. Paul Gastineau, K.C., M.P.’”
Herriard sprang up from his chair as though shot. “Gastineau!”
Mr. Quickjohn nodded several times with a suggestion of infinite sagacity and astuteness. “That’s the party, sir: although I laughed at the idea at first.”
“Gastineau!”
Herriard’s excitement surpassed any effect Mr. Quickjohn had anticipated. It was altogether more than he could account for in a member of an even-blooded profession. “Strange discoveries we light upon sometimes,” he remarked sententiously. “To think that a man in the position of Mr. Paul Gastineau could be the party wanted. I can well understand, sir, you can’t believe it at the first blush. Let me tell you how I arrived at my conclusions.”
Herriard did believe it. Somehow he felt he wanted no proof. The charge, monstrous till suggested, seemed to fit exactly: nothing now could disprove it.
“Yes, tell me,” he said, recovering himself by an effort as he sank down to his chair and turned his strained face toward his visitor.
In characteristic matter-of-fact fashion Mr. Quickjohn accepted the invitation and proceeded.
“As I say, I had no idea of putting two and two together at first. My only conclusion was that if the party wanted had a singular face, anything like the late Mr. Gastineau’s, he would be easily recognized—if I could only come across him. Of course I made a note of the similarity, and Campion soon after left me. Well, sir, I didn’t see much chance of running across Mr. Gastineau’s double, for such Campion declared his man was; however, I pegged away at the case and, after a lot of trouble, got a full list of the gentlemen guests invited to Vaux House on the occasion in question. Dukes and duchesses are not the easiest people in the world to deal with, as you may be aware, Mr. Herriard. They seem to think their position puts them above taking reasonable trouble or interest in anything. They want things done by magic and won’t see that our methods at the Yard are not exactly those of the Arabian Nights. Well, I did get the list, and, on looking down it and wondering how long it would take me to find out which of four hundred and forty odd noblemen and gentlemen most closely resembled Mr. Gastineau, K.C., M.P., what should I come to but that very same gentleman’s name. As I read it, the idea seemed to strike me in a flash, not merely why mightn’t he have done it after all, but that he had done it. Merely a conjecture, true, but I set to work on it.”
“Yes, that conjecture would be a long way from the proof,” Herriard observed, with certainty already in his mind.