The Club of Queer Trades
'e's doin is worth ten wot don't, even if e's a potty old parson.'
"'Bill's right enough,' said the coarse voice of the man who held me (it had been Miss Mowbray's). 'Bring out the picture, 'Arry.'
"The man with the revolver walked across the room to where the other two women—I mean men—were turning over baggage, and asked them for something which they gave him. He came back with it across the room and held it out in front of me. And compared to the surprise of that display, all the previous surprises of this awful day shrank suddenly.
"It was a portrait of myself. That such a picture should be in the hands of these scoundrels might in any case have caused a mild surprise, but no more. It was no mild surprise that I felt. The likeness was an extremely good one, worked up with all the accessories of the conventional photographic studio. I was leaning my head on my hand, and was relieved against a painted landscape of woodland. It was obvious that
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