“It means nothing at all,” said Patsy.  “He told us so.”

“I see.  You caught him unprepared.  That isn’t like Jack.  He is always on guard.”

Both Patsy and Uncle John were by this time sorely perplexed.  They had a feeling common to both of them, that the subject of this portrait and A. Jones were two separate and distinct persons; yet the resemblance could not be denied, if they were indeed the same, young Jones had deliberately lied to them, and recalling his various statements and the manner in which they had been made, they promptly acquitted the boy of the charge of falsehood.

“For what was Jack Andrews noted throughout Europe?” inquired Mr. Merrick, after silently considering these things.

“Well, he was a highflier, for one thing.” answered Le Drieux.  “He was known as a thorough ‘sport’ and, I am told, a clever gambler.  He had a faculty of making friends, even among the nobility.  The gilded youth of London, Paris and Vienna cultivated his acquaintance, and through them he managed to get into very good society.  He was a guest at the splendid villa of Countess Ahmberg, near Vienna, when her magnificent collection of pearls disappeared.  You remember that loss, and the excitement it caused, do you not?”

“No, sir; I have never before heard of the Countess of Ahmberg or her pearls.”

“Well, the story filled the newspapers for a couple of weeks.  The collection embraced the rarest and most valuable pearls known to exist.”

“And you accuse this man, Andrews, of stealing them?” asked Uncle John, tapping with his finger the portrait he still held.

“By no means, sir; by no means!” cried Le Drieux hastily.  “In fact, he was one of the few guests at the villa to whom no suspicion attached.  From the moment the casket of pearls was last seen by the countess until their loss was discovered, every moment of Andrews’ time was accounted for.  His alibi was perfect and he was quite prominent in the unsuccessful quest of the thief.”

“The pearls were not recovered, then?”

“No.  The whole affair is still a mystery.  My friend in Vienna, a pearl merchant like myself, assisted Andrews in his endeavor to discover the thief and, being much impressed by the young man’s personality, sent me this photograph, asking me to meet him, as I have told you, when he reached America.”

“Is his home in this country?”

“New York knows him, but knows nothing of his family or his history.  He is popular there, spending money freely and bearing the reputation of an all-around good fellow.  On his arrival there, a year ago, he led a gay life for a few days and then suddenly disappeared.  No one knew what had become of him.  When I found him here, under the name of A. Jones, the disappearance was solved.”

“I think,” said Uncle John, “you are laboring under a serious, if somewhat natural, mistake.  The subject of this picture is like A. Jones, indeed, but he is older and his expression more—­more—­”