“Very well, then,” said Reeves, “I shall go and tell her the truth. At least, I shall tell her that we’re investigating Brotherhood’s murder, and that this portrait of her was found on the body. I shall urge her to tell me if she knows of any enemies that Brotherhood had, any secrets which might throw light upon his end.” “That’s far the best principle,” agreed Gordon. “Always tell the truth, and people will never believe you.” “Why shouldn’t she believe me?” “No reason in the world; only as a matter of fact she won’t. It’s rather a satire on humanity, but I’ve always found that the safest way to conceal a fact is to state it quite baldly. Then people always think you’re pulling their legs, or being sarcastic, and the secret is preserved.” “You’re a sceptical old Sadducee. I don’t believe a woman like this would have such a low view of humanity.” “Like what?” “Like the portrait.” “Are you falling in love with her already? Marryatt, it seems to me, between funerals and marriages, you’re going to be a busy man.” “Don’t be a fool,” said Reeves. “I don’t know anything about women, except that some of them are so ugly I recognize them when I meet them in the street. This clearly isn’t one of them. But I have trained myself to judge faces a bit, and this looks to me like the face of a woman who’s straight herself and expects others to be straight with her.” “Let’s have another look,” urged Gordon. Marryatt produced the photograph, and it was passed round once more. “I dare say you’re right,” admitted Gordon. “The curious thing to me is that a good-looking woman like that who’s not actually a beauty—not classic features, I mean—should look so deadly serious when she’s having her photograph taken. I should have thought even Mr. Campbell would have had the sense to make a little photographer’s joke; or at least tell her to moisten her lips.” “You’re right,” said Carmichael. “The look is a very serious one; but I believe a portrait is all the better for that—as a portrait, I mean. Have you ever thought what an advantage the historians of the future will have over us? Think how late portraiture itself comes into history; I think I’m right in saying that a thumb-nail sketch of Edward II in the margin of an old chronicle is the earliest portrait preserved to us in English history. And when portrait-painting did come in, how soon the art was corrupted! You can see that Holbein was telling the truth; but by the time you get to Vandyck it’s all court flattery. Whereas the historians of the future will be able to see what we really were like.” “It looks to me,” said Reeves, “a sad face—the face of a woman who’s had a good deal of trouble. I feel somehow that the serious pose of the mouth was natural to her.” “I don’t think that’s the ordinary impression you’d get from her face,” put in Marryatt. “How on earth do you know?” asked Reeves, staring. “Well, you see, Campbell showed me this later photograph of her, and it wasn’t at all like that.”