twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face!
A twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment.
Then suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow.
“Great heavens!” cried the inspector, “it is, indeed, the missing man. I know him from the photograph.”
The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny.
“Be it so,” said he. “And pray what am I charged with?”
“With making away with Mr. Neville St. —Oh, come, you can’t be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it,” said the inspector with