George looked at her. She was dressed with extraordinary richness, considering the occasion. Her neck and arms, disclosed by her evening gown, glittered with diamonds; a circlet of the same stones adorned her golden hair, which was arranged in a lofty erection on her head. She met his look with derisive defiance, smiling in response to the sarcastic smile on his face. George's smile was called forth by the recognition of his opponent's tactics. Her choice of time and place had enabled her to call to her aid all the arts of millinery and the resources of wealth to dazzle and blind the eyes of those who sought to find in her the shabby draggle-tailed girl of eight years before. Old Mr. Jennings had come under strong protest. He was, he said, half blind eight years ago, and more than half now; he had seen hundreds of interesting young criminals and could no more recognise one from another than to-day's breakfast egg from yesterday week's; as for police photographs, everybody knew they only darkened truth. Still he came, because George had constrained him. Neaera, Isabel, and Laura Pocklington took their places side by side, Neaera on the right, leaning her arm on the chimney-piece, in her favourite pose of languid haughtiness; Isabel was next her. Lord Tottlebury met Mr. Jennings with cold civility, and gave him a chair. The old man wiped his spectacles and put them on. A pause ensued. "George," said Lord Tottlebury, "I suppose you have explained?" "Yes," said George. "Mr. Jennings, can you say whether any, and which, of the persons present is Nelly Game?" Gerald turned round to watch the trial. "Is the person suspected--supposed to be Nelly Game--in the room?" asked Mr. Jennings, with some surprise. He had expected to see a group of maid-servants. "Certainly," said Lord Tottlebury, with a grim smile. And Mrs. Pocklington chuckled. "Then I certainly can't," said Mr. Jennings. And there was an end of that, an end no other than what George had expected. The fat policeman was his sheet-anchor. The fat policeman, or to give him his proper name, Sergeant Stubbs, unlike Mr. Jennings, was enjoying himself. A trip to London _gratis_, with expenses on a liberal scale, and an identification at the end--could the heart of mortal constable desire more? Know the girl? Of course he would, among a thousand! It was his business to know people and he did not mean to fail, especially in the service of so considerate an employer. So he walked in confidently, sat himself down, and received his instructions with professional imperturbability. The ladies stood and smiled at Stubbs. Stubbs sat and peered at the ladies, and, being a man at heart, thought they were a set of as likely girls as he'd ever seen; so he told Mrs. Stubbs afterwards. But which was Nelly Game? "It isn't her in the middle," said Stubbs, at last. "Then," said George, "we needn't trouble Miss Bourne any longer."