In the centre of the mantelpiece was a photograph, the photograph of a man a little older, perhaps, than this newly-arrived visitor, with rounder face, dressed in country tweeds, a flower in his buttonhole, the picture of a prosperous man, yet with a curious, almost disturbing likeness to the pale, over-nervous, loose-framed youth whose eye had been attracted by its presence, and who was gazing at it, spellbound.
"Douglas!" he muttered.

"Douglas!" He flung his hat upon the table and for a moment his hand rested upon his forehead.

He was confronted with a mystery which baffled him, a mystery whose sinister possibilities were slowly framing themselves in his mind.
While he stood there he was suddenly conscious of the sound of the opening gate, brisk footsteps up the tiled way, the soft swirl of a woman's skirt.

The latch was raised, the door opened and closed.

The newcomer stood upon the threshold, gazing at him.
"Philip!" she exclaimed.