“Did you hear?” he cautiously inquired, as Mr. Ransom stood hesitating, not knowing whether to address the man or not.

“No; what did he say?  Do you suppose he is reading that paragraph?”

“I haven’t a doubt of it; and his words were, ’Here’s a damned lie!’—­very much like your own, sir.”

Mr. Ransom drew the detective a few steps down the corridor.

“He said that?”

“Yes, I heard him distinctly.”

“Then my theory is all wrong.  This man didn’t provide her with this imaginary twin sister.”

“Evidently not.”

“And is as surprised as we are.”

“And about as much put out.  Look at him!  Nothing yellow there!  We shall have to go easy with him.”

Mr. Ransom looked and felt a recoil of more than ordinary dislike for the man.  The latter had put the paper in his pocket and was coming their way.  His face, once possibly handsome, for his eyes and forehead were conspicuously fine, showed a distortion quite apart from that given by his physical disfigurement.  He was not simply angry but in a mental and moral rage, and it made him more than hideous; it made him appalling.  Yet he said nothing and moved along very quietly, making, to all appearance, for his room.  Would he notice them as he went by?  It did not seem likely.  Instinctively they had stepped to one side, and Mr. Ransom’s face was in the shadow.  To both it had seemed better not to accost him while he was in this mood.  They would see him later.

But this was not to be.  Some instinct made him turn, and Mr. Ransom, recognizing his opportunity, stepped forward and addressed him by the name under which he had introduced himself at the reception; that of his wife’s family, Hazen.

The effect was startling.  Instead of increasing his anger, as the detective had naturally expected, it appeared to have the contrary effect, for every vestige of passion immediately disappeared from his face, leaving only its natural disfigurement to plead against him.  He approached them, and Ransom, at least, was conscious of a revulsion of feeling in his favor, there was such restraint and yet such undoubted power in his strange and peculiar personality.

“You know me?” said he, darting a keen and comprehensive look from one to the other.

“We should like a few words with you,” ventured Gerridge.  “This gentleman thinks you can give him very valuable information about a person he is greatly interested in.”

“He is mistaken.”  The words came quick and decisive in a not unmelodious voice.  “I am a stranger in New York; a stranger in this country.  I have few, if any, acquaintances.”

“You have one.”

It was now Mr. Ransom’s turn.

“A man with no acquaintances does not attend weddings; certainly not wedding receptions.  I have seen you at one, my own.  Do you not recognize me, Mr. Hazen?”

A twitch of surprise, not even Ransom could call it alarm, drew his mouth still further towards his ear; but his manner hardly altered and it was in the same affable tone that he replied: