I briefly explained that, finding our search in the Manor House fruitless, we had relinquished our investigations for a few days. I also told her that my companion was my assistant, and that we had been at work together.
“But I’ve heard that you had another friend with you—a man called Seal, I think, a sea-captain,” she remarked.
“True. But who told you?”
“I heard Mr. Purvis talking of him with his friends. Mr. Bennett seems especially antagonistic towards him.”
“And well he may be,” I answered. Then in a few brief words I told her the story which the skipper had related to us. My words did not surprise her in the least. She evidently knew Black Bennett too well.
Upon the mantelshelf in a heavy silver frame was a half-length cabinet photograph of a clean-shaven and rather good-looking young man. My eyes fell upon it once or twice, and I wondered who was the original. Perhaps it was my natural jealousy which caused that sudden interest.
Presently, while we were talking, a rap came at the door, and the servant called my love outside to hand her something from a tradesman.
The moment she had disappeared behind the screen placed across the door Reilly bent to me and, in a quick whisper, said: —
“See that photo? That’s the man who was murdered at Kilburn! Ask her about him. I’ll make an excuse to go.”
I looked again at the picture. He was not more than twenty, with well-cut, refined features, a pair of merry eyes, and a well-formed mouth that in some way bore a slight resemblance to hers.