“A year ago on the fourth of next March,” he commenced, speaking deliberately, but in a very weak voice, “my wife left me for a few hours. We were in utter poverty, for our little all had been stolen from us by my wife’s brother-in-law. You may have guessed already that I was not always what I appear now. At one time—”
“But,” I interrupted, “had you not better tell me why you have brought me here, before—”
“Before it is too late, eh? You’re right. Well, my wife left me on a desperate errand. She went to ask for money from some one over whom she had a great hold—and—and she never came home.”
He paused to gain breath. My heart beat violently as I noted the great effort he had to make for respiration.
“The man she went to see was—who?”
“Wait! By mere accident she knew his secret. One night, a long time ago, she told me that a gold mine had been opened to her. In the City, at a public-house where she had called, she met her sister Jane, who gave her a five-pound note. A few days afterwards Nell went to see some gentleman, and came home with a lot of money. She said she knew a secret out of which we both might make our fortunes. In the meantime Jane had disappeared. They were sisters, and so much alike that one could scarcely tell the difference. Open the box with this key, and give me the portrait you’ll find there.”
Chafing with impatience I did as he required and quickly found the picture.
The little photograph was of the ordinary cheap pattern, and presented the features of a rather attractive young woman.
“This,” said my strange narrator, taking it in his trembling hand, “is my wife’s picture, and it will do very well for Jane’s. We saw little of her, as she moved about so much, sometimes in England and sometimes abroad.”
“Really this does not throw much light on the occurrence,” I remarked. “What connects me with all this?”