There was very little difference between the two photographs, and Hetherwick said so. And presently he went away from the police-office wondering more than ever about the woman with whose past adventures he was concerning himself.
"May as well do the thing thoroughly while you're about it," remarked Hollis, as they walked off. "Come and see Malladale--his shop is only round the corner. Not that he can tell you much more than I've told you already."
But Malladale proved himself able to tell a great deal more. A grave, elderly man, presiding over an establishment which Hetherwick, unaccustomed to the opulence of provincial manufacturing towns, was astonished to find outside London, he ushered his visitor into a private room, and listened to the reasons they gave for calling on him. After a close and careful inspection of the print which Hetherwick put before him, he handed it back with a confident nod.
"There is no doubt whatever--in my mind--that that is a print from a photograph of the woman I knew as the Honourable Mrs. Whittingham," he said. "And if it has been taken recently, she has altered very little during the ten years that have elapsed since she was here in this town."
"You'd be glad to see her again, Mr. Malladale--in the flesh?" laughed Hollis.
"I think not," he answered. "No, I think not, Mr. Hollis. That's an episode which I had put out of my mind--until you recalled it."
"But--your loss?" suggested Hollis. "Close on four thousand pounds, wasn't it?"
Mr. Malladale raised one of his white hands to his grey beard and coughed. It was a cough that suggested discretion, confidence, secrecy. He smiled behind his moustache, and his spectacled eyes seemed to twinkle.
"I think I may venture a little disclosure--in the company of two gentlemen learned in the law," he said. "To a solicitor whom I know very well, and to a barrister introduced by him, I think I may reveal a little secret--between ourselves and to go no further. The fact of this matter is, gentlemen--I had no loss!"
"Eventually," replied the jeweller. "Eventually! Indeed, to tell you the truth plain, I made my profit, and--er, something over."
"Do you mean that--eventually--you were paid?" he asked.
"Precisely! Eventually--after a considerable interval--I was paid," replied Mr. Malladale. "I will tell you the circumstances. It is, I believe, common knowledge that I sold the diamond necklace to Mrs. Whittingham for three thousand, nine hundred pounds, and that the cheque she gave me was dishonoured, and that she cleared off with the goods and was never heard of after she escaped from Hannaford. Well, two years ago, that is to say, eight years after her disappearance, I one day received a letter which bore the New York postmark. It contained a sheet of notepaper on which were a few words and a few figures. But I have that now, and I'll show it to you."