and opened it. There were two photographs. One of a beautiful woman in the fashion of 25 years before; and one a snapshot of a girl in a modern costume, whom McNorton had no difficulty in recognizing as Oliva Cresswell.
"Yes," he said, "they might be the same person."
"That's the mother on the left," explained Kitson, "the resemblance is remarkable. When Jackson saw the girl he called her Mary—that was his wife's name. Millinborn left the whole of his fortune to Miss Cresswell, but he placed upon me a solemn charge that she was not to benefit or to know of her inheritance until she was married. He had a horror of fortune-hunters. This was the secret which van Heerden surprised—I fear with violence—from poor John as he lay dying. Since then he has been plotting to marry the girl. To do him justice, I believe that the cold-blooded hound has no other wish than to secure her money. His acquaintance with White, who is on the verge of ruin, enabled him to get to know the girl. He persuaded her to come here and a flat was found for her. Partly," said the lawyer dryly, "because this block of flats happens to be her own property and the lady who is supposed to be the landlady is a nominee of mine."
"And I suppose that explains Mr. Beale," smiled the inspector.
"That explains Mr. Beale," said Kitson, "whom I brought from New York especially to shadow van Heerden and to protect the girl. In the course of investigations Mr. Beale has made another discovery, the particulars of which I do not know."
There was a little pause.
"Why not tell the girl?" said the superintendent.
Kitson shook his head.
"I have thought it out, and to tell the girl would be tantamount to breaking my faith with John Millinborn. No, I must simply shepherd her. The first step we must take"—he turned to Beale—"is to get her away from this place. Can't you shift your offices to—say New York?"
Beale shook his head.
