"Yes--at least, the lady in the sealskin jacket, and you say it was Miss Sarschine, so I suppose it was. I then went to Lady Balscombe's room, but found the door locked, so as I thought she had gone to bed I went downstairs to get my supper. When I came upstairs again, about twelve, the door was still locked, so I went to bed." "Lady Balscombe could not have gone out in the meantime?" "No, because I asked the footman if anyone had gone out or come in, and he said no one." "She could not have gone out without attracting the notice of the servants, I suppose?" "No, they would have recognised her at once. I think she waited till everyone was in bed and then went off to meet Lord Calliston." "But you are sure she did not leave till after twelve?" "I'd swear it anywhere," returned Miss Lifford impatiently. "In that case," muttered Dowker, "it could not have been Lady Balscombe who saw Mr. Desmond at Lord Calliston's chambers, so it must have been Lena Sarschine." "Do you want to know anything more?" asked Miss Lifford icily. "Yes. Tell me, what was Lady Balscombe like?" Miss Lifford laughed contemptuously. "Why, don't you know?" she replied. "You ought to, as she was one of the beauties of the season. Her portrait was all over the place. Why," catching sight of the photograph on the study-table, "you have one." Dowker handed her the photograph. "Do you say that is Lady Balscombe?" "Yes, certainly." "What nonsense!" said Lydia, "why, that is Miss Sarschine." "I never saw Miss Sarschine," retorted Miss Lifford, "but I know that's Lady Balscombe." "I never saw Lady Balscombe," replied Lydia, angrily, "but I know that's Miss Sarschine." Dowker looked from one to the other, and then slipped the photograph into his pocket along with the letters and the other photograph. "There's only one way of settling this," he said quietly, "I'll call on the photographer and ask him who it is." He gave Anne Lifford some money, and then left the house wrapped in thought. "This is a new complication," he said to himself, "this resemblance--they must be very like one another if their maids mix them up like this--and then Lena Sarschine calling on Lady Balscombe, I wonder if there can be any relationship between them--not likely--a lady of title, and a woman of light character--well," finished up Dowker, philosophically, "I think the best thing for me to do is to discover as much about Lena Sarschine's previous life as possible, and to do this, I'll run down to Folkestone, and look up Captain Michael Dicksfall." CHAPTER XII. A FAMILY HISTORY. Mr. Dowker was not a man to let grass grow under his feet, so he went straight to the photographer whose name was on the back of the portrait found in Lena Sarschine's possession, and ascertained without much difficulty that it was that of Lady Balscombe.