CHAPTER XVII
THE TRUTH ABOUT LOCKE
“Well, Mr. Nelson, I’ve solved part of the mystery, at any rate,” said Lorimer Lane, as he went to make his first formal report to Nick Nelson. “I’m afraid you’ll be sorry rather than otherwise, but the disclosure was bound to come.”
“I may be sorry I called you in at all,” Nelson responded, gloomily. “My friend Mr. Barham is not pleased at my bringing you into the matter.”
“I knew it, and I am not surprised. You see, his secret was safe, until my advent. Without undue conceit, I may say I feel sure the police would never have discovered it.”
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s simply this. The missing artist Thomas Locke can never be found—for the simple reason that there is no such person.”
Nelson stared at the detective.
“Explain, please,” he said briefly.
“I will. The artist, Locke, and your friend, Mr. Andrew Barham, are one and the same person.”
“Oh, now, Mr. Lane, that’s a little too much. I can’t take it in.”
“Take it slowly. I shouldn’t make the statement unless I knew it to be true. If you will think it over as I detail my arguments, I am sure you’ll be convinced.”
“Go ahead.”
“To begin with, it would be practically impossible for a man to disappear so utterly off the face of the earth,
