Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. On his arrival at Dollis Hill, Mr. 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. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait.
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