The cover flew back as he touched the spring, and a girl's face, dark, bright, looked out at him. It was delicately tinted and the work was well done. He had a curious shock as the eye met his. There was something so familiar in the poise of the head and the faint smile lurking at the corner of the mouth. There was no mistaking the likeness; it looked as Judithe might possibly have looked at seventeen. He had never seen her with that childish, care-free light of happiness in her eyes; she had always been thoughtful beyond her years, but in this picture-- "Where did you get this?" he asked, and his face grew stern for an instant, as Masterson replied: "In Captain Monroe's pocket." He opened his lips to speak, but Masterson pointed to the paper. "It is all written there, Colonel; I really prefer you should read that report first, and then question me if you care to. I have written each thing as it occurred. You will see Miss Loring has also signed her name to it, preferring you would accept that rather than be called upon for a personal account. Your mother is, of course, ignorant of all this--" McVeigh seemed scarcely to hear his words. _Her_ voice was yet sounding in his ears; her remorseful repetition, "You will never forgive me when you do know!"--was this what she meant? He laid down the picture and picked up the papers. Masterson seated himself at the other side of the room with his back to him, and waited. There was the rustle of paper as McVeigh laid one page after another on the table. After a little the rustle ceased. Masterson looked around. The Colonel had finished with the report and was again studying the picture. "Well?" said Masterson. "I cannot think this evidence at all conclusive." There was a pause and then he added, "but the situation is such that every unusual thing relating to this matter must, of course, be investigated. I should like to see Margeret and Captain Monroe here; later I may question Madame Caron." His voice was very quiet and steady, but he scarcely lifted his eyes from the picture; something about it puzzled him; the longer he looked at it the less striking was the likeness--the character of Judithe's face, now, was so different. He was still holding it at arm's length on the table when Margeret noiselessly entered the room. She came back of him and halted beside the table; her eyes were also on the picture, and a smothered exclamation made him aware of her presence. He closed the frame and picked up the report Masterson had given him. "Margeret," he said, looking at her, curiously, "have you seen Madame Caron today?" "Yes, Colonel McVeigh;" she showed no surprise at the question, only looked straight ahead of her, with those solemn, dark eyes. He remembered the story of her madness years ago, and supposed that was accountable for the strange, colorless, passive manner. "Did she speak to you?" "No, sir."