Why hadn't he admitted that he recognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftly to assume his Oriental mask? "Why?" asked O'Higgins. "Drink this, then," roared Blueskin. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. Grimly Hilary smiled to himself at the effect of Gerald’s name. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket.
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