“I suppose you are friends of this Mr. A. Jones,” was his next remark.

“We are acquaintances,” said Mr. Merrick.

“Has he ever mentioned his adventures in Austria to you?”

“Are you a friend of Mr. Jones?” demanded uncle John.

“I am not even an acquaintance,” said the man, smiling.  “But I am interested in him, through a friend of mine who met him abroad.  Permit me to introduce myself, sir.”

He handed them a card which read: 

      “ISADORE LE DRIEUX
Importer of Pearls and Precious Stones
        36 Maiden Lane,
        New York City.”

“I have connections abroad, in nearly all countries,” continued the man, “and it is through some of them that I have knowledge of this young fellow who has taken the name of A. Jones.  In fact, I have a portrait of the lad, taken in Paris, which I will show you.”

He searched in his pocket and produced an envelope from which he carefully removed a photograph, which he handed to Uncle John.  Patsy examined it, too, with a start of surprise.  The thin features, the large serious eyes, even the closely set lips were indeed those of A. Jones.  But in the picture he wore a small mustache.

“It can’t be our A. Jones,” murmured Patsy.  “This one is older.”

“That is on account of the mustache,” remarked Le Drieux, who was closely watching their faces.  “This portrait was taken more than a year ago.”

“Oh; but he was in Sangoa then,” protested Patsy, who was really bewildered by the striking resemblance.

The stranger smiled indulgently.

“As a matter of fact, there is no Sangoa.” said he; “so we may doubt the young man’s assertion that he was ever there.”

“Why are you interested in him?” inquired Mr. Merrick.

“A natural question,” said Le Drieux, after a moment of hesitation.  “I know you well by reputation, Mr. Merrick, and believe I am justified in speaking frankly to you and your niece, provided you regard my statements as strictly confidential.  A year ago I received notice from my friend in Austria that the young man had gone to America and he was anxious I should meet him.  At the time I was too busy with my own affairs to look him up, but I recently came to California for a rest, and noticed the strong resemblance between the boy, A. Jones, and the portrait sent me.  So I hunted up this picture and compared the two.  In my judgment they are one and the same.  What do you think, sir?”

“I believe there is a resemblance,” answered Uncle John, turning the card over.  “But here is a name on the back of the photograph:  ’Jack Andrews.’”

“Yes; this is Jack Andrews,” said Le Drieux, nodding.  “Have you ever heard the name before?”

“Never.”

“Well, Andrews is noted throughout Europe, and it is but natural he should desire to escape his notoriety by assuming another name out here.  Do you note the similarity of the initials?  ‘J.A.’ stand for Jack Andrews.  Reverse them and ‘A.J.’ stand for A. Jones.  By the way, what does he claim the ‘A’ means?  Is it Andrew?”