“You are certain of that, Mrs. Pett?  He stated positively that he had landed this morning?”

“Yes.  Quite positively.  Unfortunately I myself had no chance of judging the truth of what he said, as I am such a bad sailor that I was seldom out of my stateroom from beginning to end of the voyage.  However, as I say, I was suspicious.  I did not see how I could confirm my suspicions, until I remembered that my new butler, Skinner, had come straight from my sister’s house.”

“That is the man who just admitted me?”

“Exactly.  He entered my employment only a few days ago, having come direct from London.  I decided to wait until Skinner should meet this young man.  Of course, when he first came into the house, he was with my husband, who opened the door with his key, so that they did not meet then.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Sturgis, glancing keenly at the dog Aida, who had risen and was sniffing at his ankles.  “You thought that if Skinner recognised this young man, it would be proof of his identity?”

“Exactly.”

“Did he recognise him?”

“Yes.  But wait.  I have not finished.  He recognised him, and for the moment I was satisfied.  But I had had my suspicions of Skinner, too.  I ought to tell you that I had been warned against him by a great friend of mine, Lord Wisbeach, an English peer whom we have known intimately for a very long time.  He is one of the Shropshire Wisbeaches, you know.”

“No doubt,” said Mr. Sturgis.

“Lord Wisbeach used to be intimate with the real Jimmy Crocker.  He came to lunch to-day and met this impostor.  He pretended to recognise him, in order to put him off his guard, but after lunch he came to me here and told me that in reality he had never seen him before in his life, and that, whoever else he might be, he was certainly not James Crocker, my nephew.”

She broke off and looked at Mr. Sturgis expectantly.  The detective smiled a quiet smile.

“And even that is not all.  There is another thing.  Mr. Pett used to employ as a physical instructor a man named Jerry Mitchell.  Yesterday I dismissed him for reasons it is not necessary to go into.  To-day—­just as you arrived in fact—­the man who calls himself Jimmy Crocker was begging me to allow Mitchell to return to the house and resume his work here.  Does that not strike you as suspicious, Mr. Sturgis?”

The detective closed his eyes, and smiled his quiet smile again.  He opened his eyes, and fixed them on Mrs. Pett.

“As pretty a case as I have come across in years,” he said.  “Mrs. Pett, let me tell you something.  It is one of my peculiarities that I never forget a face.  You say that this young man pretends to have landed this morning from the Caronia?  Well, I saw him myself more than a week ago in a Broadway cafe.”

“You did?”

“Talking to—­Jerry Mitchell.  I know Mitchell well by sight.”