"I'm at work," answered Allerdyke. "Leave it to me."

He found his morocco-bound photograph album awaiting him when he arrived
at the Waldorf Hotel next day, and during the afternoon he took it in his
hand and strolled quietly and casually into Franklin Fullaway's rooms.
Everything there looked as he had always seen it--Mrs. Marlow, charming
as ever, was tapping steadily at her typewriter: Fullaway, himself a
large cigar in his mouth, was reading the American newspapers, just
arrived, in his own sanctum. He greeted Allerdyke with enthusiasm.

"Been away since yesterday, eh?" he said, after warm greetings. "Home?"

"Aye, I've been down to Yorkshire," responded Allerdyke offhandedly. "One
or two things I wanted to see to, and some things I wanted to get. This
is one of 'em."

"Family Bible?" inquired Fullaway, eyeing the solemnly bound album.

"No. Photos," answered Allerdyke. He was going to test things at once,
and he opened the book at the fateful page. "I'm a bit of an amateur
photographer," he went on, with a laugh. "Here's what's probably the last
photo ever taken of James. What d'ye think of it?"

Fullaway glanced at the photograph, all unconscious that his caller was
watching him as he had never been watched in his life. He waved his cigar
at the open page.

"Oh!" he said airily. "A remarkably good likeness--wonderful! I said so
when I saw it before--excellent likeness, Allerdyke, excellent! Couldn't
be beaten by a professional. Excellent!"

Marshall Allerdyke felt his heart beating like a sledgehammer as he put
his next question, and for the life of him he could not tell how he
managed to keep his voice under control.

"Ah!" he said. "You've seen it before, then? James show it to you?"

Fullaway nodded towards the door of the outer room, from which came the
faint click of the secretary's machine.

"He gave one to Mrs. Marlow the very last time he was here." he answered.
"They were talking about amateur photography, and he pulled a print of
that out of his pocket and made her a present of it; said it couldn't be
beaten. You're a clever hand, Allerdyke--most lifelike portrait I ever
saw. Well--any news?"

CHAPTER XIX

THE LATE CALL

It was with a mighty effort of will that Allerdyke controlled himself
sufficiently to be able to answer Fullaway's question with calmness. This
was for him a critical moment. He knew now to whom James Allerdyke had
given the photograph which Chettle had found co