"And your photograph studio, Mr. Lord. I should think you'd have hated to leave that," said Peter, at last boldly approaching the subject deepest in his thoughts. "By the way, speaking of photography"--he smiled and leaned forward across the table, confidentially--"you may be surprised, but I've seen some of your work. It's bully, too!" "What?" cried Walter Lord, excitedly. "You don't say so, Mr. Clancy. Some of my work in New York! Now I wonder who it could have been. I've only taken pictures of people around here--and there aren't so many--it's never been what you could call a paying profession, and Miranda----But never mind. Whose picture was it that you saw? And how did you know that I----" "By George, I believe I've got it with me," said Peter, slapping his pockets, the while his heart beat quickly. Now or never--"Here it is, sure enough," he added, gleefully--and laid the small carte-de-visite, the sole trophy of his midnight quest, face upward on the table. There was a moment of suspense while the old man carefully adjusted his glasses and took the old photograph up in his hand. Peter watched his face, narrowly. It had been many years. Would he---- "Why! Why!" exclaimed Walter Lord, in tones of deep surprise. "Why, how, in Heaven's name, Mr. Clancy, did you get a picture of--of little Rosamond Curwood?" CHAPTER XVII ANOTHER PHOTOGRAPH "Rosamond Curwood!" Peter's heart skipped a beat and then raced on again. Could he have been mistaken? But no! He had found the picture in her apartment, and it could be no other than Mary Blake. He was sure, positive.... And Curwood? With a click, his mind fastened the connection. The name he had written in his notebook--the name in the old set of Shakespeare--Curwood. Winthrop Curwood! Though he had been staggered for an instant, Peter resumed the conversation with scarcely a perceptible pause: "It's Winthrop Curwood's daughter, isn't it?" he said, smoothly, watching closely the old man's expression. There was immediate and unqualified acquiescence in the eyes of Walter Lord. "Yes. But where did you get it?" he asked again, wonderingly. "I thought----" "Yes?" Peter encouraged, as the old man hesitated. "It seems odd to me that you should have her picture." There was a slight emphasis on the last pronoun, and for the first time Walter Lord looked at Peter with almost a hint of--was it suspicion?--in his eyes. "I just ran across it in an old desk," Peter hastened to explain, "and I kept it because it's such a pretty kid, and the photograph so well taken. Looks as if she was just going to speak--and you can almost hear her laugh. I don't know the original----" "But you knew who it was." Lord's tone was puzzled. "Yes. I knew who it was," said Peter, easily. "Beautiful little thing, isn't she? It was a fine subject for you, and I must say you've done it justice."