l does not paint," I murmured, stoutly.

Dolly hung back again. "No, but--her hair!" she suggested, in a
faint voice.

"Its colour," I admitted, "is in places assisted by a--well, you
know, a restorer."

Dolly broke into a mischievous sly smile. "Yes, it is," she
continued. "And, oh, Uncle Sey, where the restorer has--er--restored
it, you know, it comes out in the photograph with a sort of
brilliant iridescent metallic sheen on it!"

"Bring them down, my dear," I said, gently patting her head with my
hand. In the interests of justice, I thought it best not to frighten
her.

Dolly brought them down. They seemed to me poor things, yet well
worth trying. We found it possible, on further confabulation, by
the simple aid of a pair of scissors, so to cut each in two that
all trace of Amelia and Isabel was obliterated. Even so, however,
I judged it best to call Charles and Dr. Beddersley to a private
consultation in the library with Dolly, and not to submit the
mutilated photographs to public inspection by their joint subjects.
Here, in fact, we had five patchy portraits of the redoubtable
Colonel, taken at various angles, and in characteristic unstudied
attitudes. A child had outwitted the cleverest sharper in Europe!

The moment Beddersley's eye fell upon them, a curious look came over
his face. "Why, these," he said, "are taken on Herbert Winslow's
method, Miss Lingfield."

"Yes," Dolly admitted timidly. "They are. He's--a friend of mine,
don't you know; and--he gave me some plates that just fitted my
camera."

Beddersley gazed at them steadily. Then he turned to Charles.
"And this young lady," he said, "has quite unintentionally and
unconsciously succeeded in tracking Colonel Clay to earth at last.
They are genuine photographs of the man--as he is--_without_ the
disguises!"

"They look to me most blotchy," Charles murmured. "Great black lines
down the nose, and such spots on the cheek, too!"

"Exactly," Beddersley put in. "Those are _differences in texture_.
They show just how much of the man's face is human flesh--"

"And how much wax," I ventured.

"Not wax," the expert answered, gazing close. "This is some harder
mixture. I should guess, a composition of gutta-percha and
india-rubber, which takes colour well, and hardens when applied,
so as to lie quite evenly, and resist heat or melting. Look here;
that's an artificial scar, filling up a real hollow; and _this_ is
an added bit to the tip of the nose;