They spoke in the tiny inn drawing-room, and Sarah in her coat, with her hat on, sitting on the piano-stool, stared and answered shortly at first. Little by little she was induced to utter herself. "He was a tall man," she said, "rather thin, dark and pale--" "Straight nose?" asked David. "Yes, sir, straight nose; a handsome man." "Black mustache, nicely turned out?" "Yes, sir; he had a mustache." "Well, but all that says nothing. Many people answer such a description. Was there no photograph of him in the flat? Did you never see a photograph?" "Yes, there was a photograph on the mantelpiece of Miss Barnes's bed-room. In a silver frame it was; but the day after her death the silver frame was still there, and the photograph was gone, for I noticed it myself." "Do you realize that you are telling me a mighty odd thing," said David with sudden interest. "How soon after the door was forced did you go into the flat?" "Wasn't I there when the door was forced? Didn't I go in at once?" "And how soon afterward did you notice that the photograph was gone from the silver frame?" "How soon? Soon afterward." "It was not one of the men who forced the door who removed the photograph from the frame?" "I don't think that, sir. I would have noticed it if that had been the case." "When you went in you found the body of your mistress lying dead; the front door had been bolted inside; so there was no way for any one to have come out of the flat. And when you left your mistress the previous night the photograph was in its frame, but gone when the door was forced the next day. Those are the facts, aren't they?" "Yes, sir." "Well, that seems to say that it was Miss Barnes herself who removed the photograph, doesn't it? And it follows that the photograph is still in the flat?" "P'raps she did it to screen him," suggested Sarah, indulging in the vanity of thought. "I shouldn't wonder if that was it. No doubt she tore up the photograph, or burnt it." "But you didn't see any shreds or ashes of it anywhere?" "Not of a photograph, although I did sweep out the place the same day, too. Still, that's not to say she didn't tear it up because there was no shreds of it, for there are ways and means." "Were there shreds of any kind about?" "Yes; she must have torn up a good few letters overnight before doing what she did. There was no end of litter, for that matter." "But suppose she did not burn or tear up the photograph," said David, "where would she have hidden it? Can you suggest a place? Did you ever know her to hide anything? For, if she hid one thing, she may have hidden others, mayn't she?"