"Dick Dawson was never of a very benevolent disposition. He evidently
discovered something, and swore to be avenged."
His remarks made plain one very important fact, namely, that the man who
went by the nickname of the "blind man" in Italy was really an
Englishman of the name of Dick Dawson--an adventurer most probably.
"Then you suspect him of complicity in the theft of the secret?" I
suggested.
"Well, as the little sachet of chamois leather is missing, I am inclined
to think that it must have passed into his hands."
"And the girl, what of her?"
"His daughter, Dolly, will assist him, that's plain. She's as shrewd as
her father, and possesses a woman's cunning into the bargain--a
dangerous girl, to say the least. I warned poor Blair of them both," he
added, suddenly, it seemed, recollecting his letter. "But I am glad you
have recognised one of these photographs. His name is Seton, you say.
Well, if he is your friend, take my advice and beware. Are you certain
you have never seen this other man--a friend of Seton's?" he asked very
earnestly.
I carried the picture in my hand to where the dim oil lamp was burning,
and examined it very closely. It was a vignette of a long-faced,
bald-headed, full-bearded man, wearing a stand-up collar, a black
frock-coat and well-tied bow cravat. The stud in his shirt front was
somewhat peculiar, for it seemed like the miniature cross of some
foreign order of chivalry, and produced a rather neat and novel effect.
The eyes were those of a keen, crafty man, and the hollow cheeks gave
the countenance a slightly haggard and striking appearance.
It was a face that, to my recollection, I had never seen before, yet
such were its peculiarities that they at once became photographed
indelibly upon my memory.