"Do you know her?" Godfrey asked.
To my infinite amazement, Rogers shook his head.
"Never saw her before," he muttered. "When I first looked at her, I
thought I knew her; but it ain't the same woman."
"Do you mean to say," Godfrey demanded sternly, "that that is not the
woman who called on Mr. Vantine to-night?"
Again Rogers shook his head.
"Oh, no," he protested; "it's not the same woman at all. This one is
younger."
Godfrey made no reply; but he sat down and looked at Rogers, and
Rogers lay and gazed at the picture, and gradually his face softened,
as though at some tender memory.
"Come, Rogers," I urged, at last. "You'd better tell us all you know.
If this is the woman, don't hesitate to say so."
"I've told you all I know, Mr. Lester," said Rogers, but he did not
meet my eyes. "And I'm feeling pretty bad. I think I'd better be
getting to bed."
"Yes, that's best," agreed Godfrey promptly. "Parks will help you,"
and he held out his hand for the photograph.
Rogers relinquished it with evident reluctance. He opened his lips as
though to ask a question; then closed them again, and got slowly to
his feet, Parks aiding him.
"Good-night, gentlemen," he said weakly, and shuffled away, leaning
heavily on Parks's shoulder.
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