“I had no idea the police force was so corrupt,” sighed Brett, as he completed the financial transaction, and Mr. Holden took his departure.  The detective also went off to search for Okasaki.

About nine o’clock Hume arrived.

“You will be glad to hear,” he said, “that the rector invited me to lunch.  He approves of my project, and will pray for my success.  It has been a most pleasant day for me, I can assure you.”

“The rector retired to his study immediately after lunch, I presume?”

“Yes,” said David innocently.  “Has anything important occurred in town?”

Brett gave him a resume of events.  A chance allusion to Sir Alan caused the young man to exclaim: 

“By the way, you have never seen his photograph.  He and I were very much alike, you know, and I have brought from my rooms a few pictures which may interest you.”

He handed to Brett photographs of himself and his two cousins, and of the older Sir Alan and Lady Hume-Frazer, taken singly and in groups.

The barrister examined them minutely.

“Alan and I,” pointed out his client, “were photographed during our last visit to London.  Poor chap!  He never saw this picture.  The proofs were not sent until after his death.”

Something seemed to puzzle Brett very considerably.  He compared the pictures one with the other, and paid heed to every detail.

“Let me understand,” Brett said at last.  “I think I have it in my notes that at the time of the murder you were twenty-seven, Sir Alan twenty-four, and Mrs. Capella twenty-six?”

“That is so, approximately.  We were born respectively in January, October, and December.  My twenty-seventh birthday fell on the 11th.”

“Stated exactly, you were two years and nine months older than he?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look it.”

“I never did.  We were always about the same size as boys, but he matured at an earlier age than I.”

“It is odd.  How old were you when this group was taken?”

The photograph depicted a family gathering on the lawn at Beechcroft.  There were eight persons in it, three being elderly men.

David reflected.

“That was before I left Harrow, and Christmas time.  Seventeen almost, within a couple of weeks.”

“So your cousin Margaret was sixteen?”

“Yes.”

“She was remarkably tall, well-developed for her age.”

“That was a notable characteristic from an early age.  We boys used to call her ‘Mama,’ when we wanted to vex her.”

“The three old gentlemen are very much alike.  This is the baronet.  Who are the others?”

“My father and uncle.”

“What!  Do you mean to tell me there to another branch of the family?”

“Well, yes, in a sense.  My uncle is dead.  His son, my age or a little older, for the youngest of the three brothers was married first, was last heard of in Argentina.”