Fanks was prepared for most surprises, and, from experience, he was capable, of controlling his emotions thoroughly. In this instance, however, he was so overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the discovery that it was some time before he could arrange his thoughts and plan of action. The coincidence of the tattooed cross was extraordinary, but the resemblance of the portraits was still more so. Before he could comment on the fact Hersham asked an abrupt question. "Why do you speak of these things?" he said anxiously, "and what do you know about Miss Colmer?" "I know nothing about Miss Colmer," replied Fanks, quickly. "Hold on a minute, my good fellow, I have had what people call a turn." Hersham accepted this explanation with a doubtful air, and pushed the spirits towards the detective. Accepting this attention, Fanks poured himself out a stiff glass. A sip or two braced his nerves and set his brain to work, so that shortly he was able to face the unexpected situation. For obvious reasons he did not wish to reveal too much to Hersham; yet under the peculiar circumstances of the case he was forced to tell him a certain amount. To gain his ends with the least possible risk to his plans he was reduced to manufacturing a plausible theory from the facts within his knowledge. The task was one of some little difficulty, but he succeeded fairly well in suppressing so much of the truth as he did not wish known. "That photograph took me by surprise, Hersham," he said after a pause. "Why should it take you by surprise?" said the other, jealously. "Have you ever met with Miss Colmer?" "I have not met the lady," replied Fanks, slowly, "but I have seen some one who greatly resembles her. So greatly indeed that I thought the person I saw was the original of that photograph." "Where did you see this person?" "At Paris--in the Morgue." It seemed to Fanks that Hersham changed colour on hearing this; but he kept his feelings under control, and merely remarked, "In the Morgue? A case of murder, no doubt." "No! Suicide by drowning. Afterwards I heard that the body was that of an English girl called Emma Calvert." He purposely suppressed the fact of the marriage. "She is buried in Pere la Chaise under the name--whether true or not, I cannot say--of Calvert. You cannot wonder that the sight of that picture, which I took for that of the dead woman, should startle me, the more especially as you assure me that the original of that photograph is still alive and is engaged to you." "Was it for this purpose that you came to see me?" demanded Hersham. "No; I came to see you about something else. Nevertheless, before telling you the object of my visit, I should like to have the mystery of the photograph explained." "How do you know that I can explain it?" "Perhaps you can, perhaps you can't. On the other hand, perhaps you can and perhaps you--won't."