"What a wretched mistake," cried Bruce involuntarily. This unmasking of his unfortunate friend's duplicity was the most painful feature of all to him. "Perhaps it was," replied the detective, "but the thing is not yet quite clear to me. That is why I am here. But to continue. The girl admitted that she lost her head a bit. Instead of leaving the house openly, without attracting comment, she simply bolted, thus giving rise to the second sensational element attending Lady Dyke's disappearance. But she resolved to be faithful to her promise. When you found her she held her tongue, and even wrote to Sir Charles to assure him that she had not spoken a word to a soul. He sent for her, and pitched into her about not going to America, but took her address in case he wished to see her again." "He recognized her letter-writing powers, no doubt." "Evidently. She was surprised last Thursday week to receive a telegram asking her to meet him at York Station. When she arrived there he asked her to write the letter he handed to you and to post it in London on Saturday evening. He explained that his action was due to his keen anxiety to shield his wife's name, and that this letter would settle the affair altogether. As he handed her another bundle of notes, and promised to settle £100 a year on her for life, she was willing enough to help him. During your interview with her you guessed the reason why she wrote Lady Dyke's hand so perfectly. She had copied it for three years." "All this must have astonished you considerably?" "Mr. Bruce, astonished isn't the word. I was flabbergasted! Once she started talking I let her alone, only rattling the handcuffs when she seemed inclined to stop. But all the time I felt as if the top of my head had been blown off." "I imagine she had not much more to tell you?" "She pitched into you as the cause of all the mischief, and went so far as to say that she was sure it was not Sir Charles who killed Lady Dyke, but you yourself." Bruce winced at Jane Harding's logic. Were he able to retrieve the past three months the mystery of Lady Dyke's death would have remained a mystery forever. "Now about the photograph," said the detective. "After I had left Jane Harding with a solemn warning to speak to no one until I saw her again, I made a round of the fashionable photographers and soon obtained an excellent likeness of Sir Charles. I showed it to Dobson, and she said: 'That is Colonel Montgomery.' I showed it to the foreman of the furniture warehouse, and he said: 'That is the image of the man who ordered Mrs. Hillmer's suite.' Now, what on earth is the upshot of this business to be? I called at Wensley House, but was told Sir Charles was not in town. Had he been in, I would not have seen him until I had discussed matters with you." "That is very good of you, Mr. White. May I ask your reason for showing him this consideration?" The policeman, who was very earnest and very excited, banged his hand on the table as he cried: