The last words fell from his lips
idly.
"You know where she is?" Northway inquired.
"Quite well. I have seen her often of late--from a distance. To
prove I am not mistaken, look at this portrait and tell me if you
recognize the person?"
He took from an inner pocket a mutilated photograph; originally of
cabinet size, it was cut down to an oval, so that only the head
remained. The portrait had been taken in London between Lilian's
return from Paris and her arrival at Polterham. Glazzard was one of
the few favoured people who received a copy.
Northway examined it and drew in his cheeks, breathing hard.
"There's no mistake, I think?"
The reply was a gruff negative.
"I suppose you do care about discovering her?"
The answer was delayed. Glazzard read it, however, m the man's
countenance, which expressed various emotions.
"She has married again--eh?"
"First, let me ask you another question. Have you seen her
relatives?"
"Yes, I have."
"With what result?"
"They profess to know nothing about her. Of course, I don't believe
them."
"But you may," said Glazzard, calmly. "They speak the truth, no
doubt. From them you must hope for no information. In all
likelihood, you might seek her for the rest of your life and never
come upon her track."
"Then let me know what you propose."
"I offer to tell you where she is, and how situated, and to enable
you to claim her.
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