It was Parks who reassured us, when he came
hurrying back a minute later with a glass of water in one hand and a
small phial in the other.
"He has these spells," he said. "It's a kind of vertigo. Give him a
whiff of this."
He uncorked the phial and handed it to Godfrey, and I caught the
penetrating fumes of ammonia. A moment later, Rogers gasped
convulsively.
"He'll be all right pretty soon," remarked Parks, with ready
optimism. "Though I never saw him quite so bad."
"We can't leave him lying here on the floor," said Godfrey.
"There's a couch-seat in the music-room," Parks suggested, and the
three of us bore the still unconscious man to it.
Then Godfrey and I sat down and waited, while he gasped his way back
to life.
"Though he can't really tell us much," Godfrey observed. "In fact, I
doubt if he'll be willing to tell anything. But his face, when he
looked at the picture, told us all we need to know."
Thus reminded, I took the photograph out of the pocket into which I
had slipped it, and looked at it again.
"Where did you get it?" I asked.
"The police photographer made some copies. This is one of them."
"But what made you suspect that the two women were the same?"
"I don't just know," answered Godfrey, reflectively.
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