Chapter IX.
A HOT SCENT.
'COME in!' called Trent.
Mr. Cupples entered his sitting-room at the hotel. It was the early evening of the day on which the coroner's jury, without leaving the box, had pronounced the expected denunciation of a person or persons unknown. Trent, with a hasty glance upward, continued his intent study of what lay in a photographic dish of enamelled metal, which he moved slowly about in the light of the window. He looked very pale, and his movements were nervous.
'Sit on the sofa,' he advised. 'The chairs are a job lot bought at the sale after the suppression of the Holy Inquisition in Spain. This is a pretty good negative,' he went on, holding it up to the light with his head at the angle of discriminating judgement. 'Washed
