CHAPTER VII. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Gracious, there’s the gong. Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. See paragraph 1. Sheppard let fall her basket. When he could find words, he tried by the most urgent solicitations to prevail upon the constable to let him out.
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