"Go back to the inn," he said, "you and Sophy, and wait for me. Will join you there in an hour or so. Crawley and I going to have a drink." I obeyed him without wasting time in asking questions, and Sophy and I returned to the inn. It was a disappointment that a telegram from Emilia had not arrived. But before Bob made his appearance an incident occurred which profoundly agitated me. I was sitting at the table, making, as was usual with me, a record of what had happened, in the doing of which I had occasion to take some papers from my pockets. Among these papers which I placed on the table was the photograph of Gerald Paget which I had found in M. Felix's room, his name being written on the back. While I wrote, Sophy remained quiet. The girl has a discretion; she knows when to speak and when to hold her tongue. My writing done I took up the papers to put them in my pocket, and in doing so the photograph dropped to the ground. Sophy stooped and picked it up, and was about to give it to me, when her eyes fell on it. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If it ain't the pickcher of Number One!" "What?" I cried. "It is," she said, looking at it with absolute tenderness. "It's the image of 'im, though he's older now than when it was took; but it's 'is face as clear as clear can be." "Sophy," I said, rising in my excitement, "are you mad? Do you know what you are saying?" "'Course I do. It's Number One I tell yer. I'll take my Bible oath on it!" "You must be dreaming," I said. "This is the portrait of a gentleman who died many years ago." "If he's dead," she persisted, "he's come to life agin, like Mr. Felix. It's Number One's pickcher, and nobody else's." She was so positive that I was confounded by the possibilities her statement opened up, supposing her not to be mistaken. Nothing that I said could shake her conviction. "I know 'is face as well as I know your'n," she said. "I can't be mistook. It's the pickcher of Number One." At this juncture Bob entered the room. Anxious as I was to hear his news I first explained the incident to him, and it was an additional surprise to me when he ranged himself on Sophy's side. "I accept everything," he said. "No villainy too monstrous for Peterssen. Corroborative evidence handy. Crawley!" The man was outside in the passage, and at the summons he came in. "Know this portrait?" asked Bob, handing it to him. "Of course I do. It's Number One. How did you get hold of it?" "Never mind. Are you positive it is his portrait?" "I'll swear to it." "That will do. Go and get something to eat, and be ready when I call you. Mind, no drinking." Crawley gone, Bob turned his attention to me.