had created such a deep impression upon me should be preserved in her own little boudoir as souvenir of a devoted school-friend.
"Then you have heard absolutely nothing as to her present position or whereabouts — whether she is married, for instance?"
"Ah!" she cried mischievously. You betray yourself by your own words. You have fallen in love with her, I really believe, Mr. Gregg. If she knew, she'd be most gratified — or at least she ought to be."
At which I smiled, preferring that she should adopt that theory in preference to any other.
She spoke frankly, as a pure honest girl would speak. She was not jealous, but she nevertheless resented — as women do resent such things — that I should fall in love with her friend's photograph.
There was a mystery surrounding that torn picture; of that I was absolutely certain. The remembrance of that memorable evening when I had dined on board the Lola arose vividly before me. Why had the girl's portrait been so ruthlessly destroyed and the frame turned with its face to the wall? There was some reason — some distinct and serious motive in it. Had Muriel told me the truth, I wondered, or was she merely seeking to shield the suspected man who was her lover?
Hour by hour the mystery surrounding the Leithcourts became more inscrutable, more intensely absorbing. I had searched the copy of the London Directory at the Station Hotel at Carlisle, and found that no house in Green Street was registered as
