"I should say, off-hand," remarked Mr. Dodsworth, "that that woman must be wrong in the head."
The doctor smoothed his shaven chin with his open palm before he spoke. "I am not so sure of that. But of one thing I am sure. I am sure I know who is the original of the woman in the photographs."
The governor glanced up from the letter which he still held in his hand.
"Who is it?"
"The woman who wrote that letter—George Solly's wife."
The governor appeared to consider the matter for a moment.
"That is a point that can be very easily decided. Murray, go and fetch George Solly here."
The chief warder departed. When, in the course of a few minutes, he returned with the object of his quest, it was seen that George Solly was a young man, of perhaps six- or seven-and-twenty years of age. The prison costume which he wore was not a thing of beauty, but its ugliness was not sufficient to conceal the fact that he was a man of gentle breeding, and not only of gentle breeding, but of modest bearing. He was fair, with clear brown eyes, and well-shaped mouth and chin, not by any means the criminal type of man, and he was a man of quiet fortitude. Despite that ghastly uniform, there was about the man a certain dignity.
Directly he had taken up the regulation stand-at-attention attitude in front of the governor's table, Mr. Paley held out to him a photograph.
"Solly, whose portrait is that?"
