as Locke seems to have done. With a large reward offered for his apprehension, no man could hide his personality so long and so cleverly and escape all discovery or detection. But, aside from that, I have proved my case to my own satisfaction, as I am sure I can prove it to yours.”
“I’m trying to grasp it. But, before anything else, why would Andrew Barham cut up any such trick as that? Why?”
“I will tell you. I may as well tell you that first. I have studied Mr. Barham for three days now—I have inquired among his friends and acquaintances—in a roundabout way—I have interviewed his servants and I have even talked with his mother-in-law. A most surprisingly unpleasant old lady.”
“And you learned?”
“I learned that for some reason, Andrew Barham chose to lead a double life. He was part of the time a resident of Fifth Avenue and a society man. Also, part of the time, he was Thomas Locke, artist, of Washington Square.”
“Have you taxed him with this?”
“I have not. I am employed by you—so I come to you with my findings. If you say so, my discovery shall go no further.”
“I don’t know what to say—I am too amazed for words. If any lesser detective than yourself told me this thing I should scoff at it. But I know your reputation, I know your prowess, and I feel I must believe you—at least I must believe that you believe this thing yourself.”
“I know it. As to the more positive bits of evidence, let me call to your mind the wig, left behind in the mid-night scramble with the policeman. Mr. Barham, of course, pursued his career as Locke, in disguise. He couldn’t have managed it any other way. His disguise
