No doubt the man from Scotland Yard thought the speaker mad. No doubt he wondered why cases of this sort were placed in charge of distinguished soldiers handicapped by such preposterous scruples. But he did not know how Fate had intertwined Nanette in this affair so that at every turn success or failure seemed to lie cupped in her little hands. He took it like a good sportsman, however. “Might I look over the other photographs?” he asked. “Certainly,” said I, and spread them before him. “The negatives are in the wallet. You will want the one of Zara.” But when, later, I found myself alone, and began to arrange my photographic gallery, I missed not one negative, but _two_. Search availed me nothing. The negative of Zara was gone, but so also was that of Nanette in the act of diving from a rock. “Jack!” I exclaimed. “Jack must have taken it!” But I was wrong. CHAPTER XXII. PORTRAIT OF A GIRL DIVING On the following morning Nanette’s mother called. One great disadvantage of this era of freedom is that it has taken all the kick out of life. Without prohibitions there can be no thrills. If a pretty married woman had called upon my father in his bachelor days he would have immediately consulted his solicitor. She looked more like Nanette than ever. Her shapely arms were sunburned, and (I thought) were very beautiful so. But, as Nanette had done, she declared that she was ashamed of her gipsy appearance. But she had come with some more definite purpose than merely to chat, and presently the truth popped out. “Really, you know, Mr. Decies,” she said, “I don’t think it was quite playing the game.” I suppose I stared like an idiot. “You know quite well what I mean,” she added, and smiled in that way which was so like Nanette’s. “On the contrary,” I assured her earnestly. “I really haven’t the faintest idea to what you refer.” She stared at me very unblinkingly, then nodded. “I can see you haven’t,” she confessed. “Perhaps you didn’t think there was any harm in it--and, of course, I admit the excellence of the charity. But I’m afraid it will get her talked about. At least, you might have consulted me.” “Please--please!” I entreated. “Take pity upon me. You are clearly referring to something of which I have no knowledge whatever----” “Mr. Decies,” she interrupted--and held out a newspaper which she carried--“I am referring to the picture in the _Daily Planet_.” “But what have I to do with the pictures in the _Daily Planet_?” I asked blankly. “Since you took the picture in question, the connection in this case is obvious.” Dazedly, I opened the copy of the _Planet_ which she handed to me--and there, prominently featured, was a large reproduction of my snapshot of Nanette diving! The caption read: