A charming study of a charming diver. No wonder Madeira grows more popular every season. The original photograph is on view in the Modern Gallery, Bond Street, amongst a collection offered for sale in aid of St. Dunstan’s Institute for Blinded Soldiers. To say that I was staggered is to convey but a feeble idea of my frame of mind. I stared at the picture until I seemed to see it dimly through a haze. When, at last, I looked up and met the reproachful gaze of Nanette’s mother, I was temporarily past comment. My innocence must have proclaimed itself, for: “Mr. Decies,” she said, and I saw her expression change, “I must apologize. You evidently are as surprised as I was. But this only deepens the mystery. Did you develop this film yourself?” “No,” I answered. “It was on one of several spools which I brought back. The Kodak people developed it. But----” I stopped short. The truth had presented itself to me. One of four people had taken this unaccountable liberty with the photograph. Jack, the inspector, O’Shea, or Nanette herself. For I had no evidence to show which of these four had removed the negative from the wallet. “Yes?” Nanette’s mother prompted. “The firm in question certainly knows nothing of the matter,” I went on. “You see, I missed this negative yesterday.” “You mean that someone stole it?” “Stole it or borrowed it.” “But with what object?” “Presumably a philanthropic one,” said I, very blankly. “Nobody profits--except the charity.” “It resembles the work of an enemy--if one can imagine Nan having an enemy. Unfortunately, it is a perfect likeness. In fact, it was brought to my notice by someone. Personally, I don’t read the _Planet_.” “What does Nanette think about it?” “She doesn’t know. That is, she had already gone out when the paper was shown to me. She may know by now. I am afraid it will earn her a rather unenviable notoriety.” I promised that I would thresh the matter out, but as I had a luncheon appointment all I could hope to do immediately was to ring up the _Planet_ and speak to the department responsible. This led to nowhere. The art editor was out, and apparently no other member of the staff knew anything whatever about the photograph--or about anything else. I lunched that day at the Savoy Grill. So did nearly everybody who had been in Funchal whilst Nanette was there. The room appeared to be decorated with copies of the _Planet_, and my reception would have gratified Gene Tunney and overwhelmed Douglas Fairbanks. I grew stickily embarrassed. Finally, I made my escape--and in the lobby ran into Jack. “I say, Decies,” he exclaimed, “it’s hardly good enough. Nanette kicked at the picture from the first. Now you go and publish it!” “Stop!” I said sharply. “This is the last time I shall explain the fact to anyone. But I did not send Nanette’s photograph to the _Planet_. Except that someone stole the negative from the portfolio at my rooms yesterday, I know nothing whatever about the matter.”