“Not in so plain a trap, at any rate. Where did that precious work of art come from?” “Heaven knows! Ching Lung found it lying on the door-step, with a cobblestone holding it down. I’d like to lay my hands on the artist.” “You’d crumple him up as you did his little message, eh?” smiled Kent. “At least I’d have an explanation out of him. It’s a fact though, that I lost my temper and threw that thing into a corner, when Ching first handed it to me. Then it occurred to me that it might be well worth saving. Interesting little sketch, don’t you think?” “No.” “What? You don’t find it interesting?” “Profoundly. But it isn’t a sketch.” “What would you call it, then?” “A copy.” “How can you tell that? You haven’t seen the original from which it was made, have you?” “No.” “Then, what’s the basis?” “Quite simple. If you had used your eyes on it instead of your temper, you might have seen at once that it is a tracing. Look for yourself, now.” Taking the magnifying monocle that Kent held out, the artist scrutinized the lines of the picture. “By Jove! You’re right,” said he. “It’s been transferred through tracing-paper, and touched up afterward. Rather roughly, too. You can see where the copyist has borne down too hard on the lead.” “What’s your opinion of the likeness—if it is the likeness which you suppose?” inquired Kent. “Why, as I remember the woman, this picture is a good deal idealized. The hair and the eyes are much the same. But the lines of the face in the picture are finer. The chin and mouth are more delicate, and the whole effect softer and of a higher type.” “Do you see anything strange about the neck, on the left side?” “Badly drawn; that’s all.” “Just below the ear there is a sort of blankness, isn’t there?” “Why, yes. It seems curiously unfinished, just there.” “If you were touching it up how would you correct that?” “With a slight shading, just there, where the neck muscle should be thrown up a bit by the turn of the head.” “Or by introducing a large pendant earring which the copier has left out?” “Kent, you’re a wonder! That would do it, exactly. But why in the name of all that’s marvelous, should the tracer of this drawing leave out the earring?” “Obviously to keep the picture as near like as possible to the body on the beach.” “Then you don’t think it is the woman of the beach?” “No; I don’t.” “Who else could it possibly be?” “Perhaps we can best find that out by discovering who left the drawing here.” “That looks like something of a job.” “Not very formidable, I think. Suppose we run up to the village and ask the local stationer who has bought any tracing-paper there within a day or two.” As the demand for tracing-paper in Martindale Center was small, the stationer upon being called on, had no difficulty in recalling that Elder Dennett had been in that afternoon and made such a purchase.