“How extraordinary! Have you come to that, too?” “Or else it came to me. Look!” She shrank involuntarily, then, without touching the thing he had taken from his pocket, stared at it closely. “Are there two? Where did you find that?” “No,” he smiled, “this is a cast in green wax made from a mold I took of the image itself. I—” he hesitated—“I did not like to carry the original about with me.” “I think you are very wise, but where did you find the original?” Her eyes were full of wonder. “It happened a week ago, the day before I went to see Sergeant Burke. I was in the study, looking at your father’s portrait as I often do, when it seemed more than ever that he was trying to tell me something. That has often been the case before, but never as vividly. He wanted to speak, and I believe he was speaking, but not in a language I could understand. Then I got up and stood in front of him and could have sworn the expression of his eyes changed. They appeared to be looking down at something below himself and not far away. Without knowing it I put out my hand as though to meet an invisible one held out to me, and touched the oak frame on the side of the mantel. You know those old carvings?” “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “It was just under the upper one. Then I heard a click, and a small panel fell forward, opening a tiny cupboard about six inches square. The original of this thing was inside, as though it had been waiting for me. I did not touch it at once but looked up, and there was a sort of relief in the painted eyes.” “Go on; please go on!” “I haven’t much more to say, as yet, except that to my knowledge both Perkins and Martin have searched the study for something I take to be the original of this. There’s one other thing to be found now. Evidence was given that it was there that evening and has not been seen since.” “I know what that is.” “Well, I have an idea it’s not far away.” “Why do you say that?” “I don’t know, but I feel it. Meantime will you tell me what you know of the image?”
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