"Most of the evidence in criminal cases is circumstantial and deductive. Another thing makes me think that it is a woman. There is a great deal of useless mystery here. A man would not have troubled about that. He would have inserted a third advertisement appointing time and place; but this woman can't resist a touch of the mysterious. Therefore she devises this silly cardboard star; sends it through the post; and so betrays herself." "How can she betray herself when there is no address?" "There is no address; but there is a postmark. Look at the envelope." Garth picked up the paper, and saw that the postmark was Taxton-on-Thames. "Why!" he cried in astonishment, "that is where my cousin Louis lives." "Yes, and it is where Dr. Binjoy lives, which is more to the purpose," said Fanks, dryly. "Did I not tell you that I was right to doubt that gentleman." Garth looked again at the envelope. "You say that this handwriting is that of an elderly woman. I suppose you are thinking of Mrs. Boazoph?" "Indeed I am not. I give Mrs. Boazoph more credit than to murder a man in her own hotel and advertise the fact so openly. She is not a fool. But patience, Garth, we are not yet at the end of our discoveries." He again searched the drawers. In many of them there was nothing likely to attract his attention; but in the lowest drawer on the right hand side, Garth made a discovery. It was that of a pretty girl's photograph, and this he showed to Fanks with a laugh. "Gregory always had a weakness for pretty faces," he remarked. "Do you not think that his taste was good?" Fanks looked reflectively at the picture. It was that of a girl just budding into womanhood, with a delicate face, and rather sad eyes. The name of the artist was not printed at the foot, as is usual, nor was the address of the studio inscribed thereon. Nevertheless, on the back of the photograph the detective found writing which startled him. "Garth!" he cried eagerly, "give me that envelope. Ah, I thought so." "What is the matter?" asked Garth, astonished at the excitement of the usually calm Fanks. "Look at the envelope; look at the back of the photograph; compare the handwritings." Fanks placed them side by side on the desk. On the envelope was the address of Sir Gregory in Half-Moon Street; on the photograph, an inscription which ran as follows: "Emma. Born 1874; died 1893." The handwriting on both was one and the same. Garth drew a long breath. "By George, that is strange," he said, after a pause, "the woman who wrote the one, wrote the other; there isn't a shadow of difference between the writings. You are right, Fanks, the penmanship is that of an elderly woman; no doubt the mother of the girl." "That is my opinion also; but the girl, Garth? Who is she?"