Then he saw the front page of The Record.

A picture caught his eye, and slowly he raised the newspaper, for he saw that the picture was a likeness of the woman whose photograph lay on the bed. It was not a reproduction from the photograph; the angle was slightly different and the woman was not wearing her pearls, but undoubtedly it was the same woman. The difference between the pictures seemed more marked the longer he studied the newspaper. Gone were the curves at the corners of the lips and the suggestion of veiled mockery in the narrowed eyes. The photograph showed something of the character of the woman, the picture in The Record had a blankness of expression which disturbed him. She looked lost and forlorn.

In heavy type above the picture were the words: DO YOU KNOW THIS WOMAN? Beneath it, in italics: To read the amazing story turn to page 3, column 1.

Slowly, Rollison turned to page 3.

CHAPTER TWO

THE STORY OF THE LADY

“HALLO, Rolly,” said Superintendent Grice, “I thought you had gone north after some bad men.” He shook hands with Rollison and pulled up an armchair covered in faded green cloth, then offered cigarettes. “Couldn’t you find them?”

“They were non-existent,” Rollison said, sinking into the chair. “Thanks. You look very spruce this morning. Everyone seems to be celebrating something.”

Grice was, indeed, immaculately dressed. In his buttonhole was a white carnation, he wore a wing collar and a bow tie, and in place of his usual lounge suit which always looked in need of pressing, he had on morning dress. Scotland Yard had never seen him so well turned out. Nothing, however, could alter his rather severe, even aquiline features across which the skin was stretched tightly, showing the little parallel ridges at the bridge of his nose. His skin seemed to glow; it was a golden brown, more often seen in Italians and Spaniards than in Englishmen. Brown hair and brown eyes with that delicate skin made him look almost un-English.