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Updated: May 21, 2025
The other two asked no questions. They had an instinct that it would be mere waste of breath. "But what I don't understand," said the Prime-Minister suddenly, "is how that photograph came to be in Mr. Hersheimmer's drawer?" "Perhaps it never left it," suggested the lawyer gently. "But the bogus inspector? Inspector Brown?" "Ah!" said Sir James thoughtfully. He rose to his feet.
His body was dressed in shabby clothes, and the face disfigured to prevent identification. Mr. Brown took his place. He sailed immediately for England. None of the real Hersheimmer's friends or intimates saw him before he sailed though indeed it would hardly have mattered if they had, the impersonation was so perfect. Since then he had been hand and glove with those sworn to hunt him down.
He thanked me for a certain letter which I had written to him as a matter of fact, I had offered him a job. Then he reminded me of something I had said to him at Manchester respecting that bogus telegram which lured Miss Cowley away. I asked him if anything untoward had occurred. He said it had that in a drawer in Mr. Hersheimmer's room he had discovered a photograph."
Hersheimmer's at Manchester, I gathered that you had understood and acted on that hint. Then I set to work to prove the impossible possible. Mr. Beresford rang me up and told me, what I had already suspected, that the photograph of Miss Jane Finn had never really been out of Mr. Hersheimmer's possession " But the girl interrupted. Springing to her feet, she cried out angrily: "What do you mean?
THE supper party given by Mr. Julius Hersheimmer to a few friends on the evening of the 30th will long be remembered in catering circles. It took place in a private room, and Mr. Hersheimmer's orders were brief and forcible. He gave carte blanche and when a millionaire gives carte blanche he usually gets it! Every delicacy out of season was duly provided.
Then he took it out, shut the drawer, walked slowly over to an arm-chair, and sat down still staring at the photograph in his hand. What on earth was a photograph of the French girl Annette doing in Julius Hersheimmer's writing-table? THE Prime Minister tapped the desk in front of him with nervous fingers. His face was worn and harassed. He took up his conversation with Mr.
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