“That’s highly probable, I should think,” Shelley agreed. “Where is this safe deposit?”

“Not far from here. In the Chancery Lane place, you know. Is there any way of getting it open, I wonder? They’re the very devil about getting anything out without the keys,” explained the solicitor.

“Oh, I know all about that,” said Shelley with a smile. “I’ve had to deal with them before. I think that I can manage that all right.”

They walked around to the safe deposit, and, after a long talk with the manager, and a conversation over the ’phone with a personage very high up on the staff at Scotland Yard, Shelley managed to get permission to open the late Professor Arnell’s safe, though only in the presence of the manager of the establishment, and another witness, Samuel agreeing to act in this capacity.

The keys turned, the neat little safe was opened, and the contents disclosed to view.

“Didn’t I tell you he was a queer old bird?” murmured Samuel, as these things were taken out.

There were more share certificates and deeds of property. Apparently Professor Arnell had believed in taking no risks, preferring to have such of his property as might be either destroyed by fire or stolen by thieves spread in several places. That seemed the only explanation of this strange business of having some in his lawyer’s office and some in the safe deposit.

But there were other things. Some scraps of old-fashioned jewellery—presumably his wife’s—and something that made Shelley stare in open-eyed surprise. This was a photograph of a pleasant-looking young man of a Jewish cast of face. His hair was black, sleek, and shiny.

“I say,” said Shelley, “would you object to my taking that photograph away with me? I feel that it may have a bearing on this case.”

The manager of the safe deposit looked rather doubtful at the propriety of this course of action.

“Of course,” Shelley added hastily, “I shall give you a receipt for it, and it will be returned later. In fact, if we have it long enough to photograph, and thus to make copies, that will do. I could return it to you tonight, if you feel doubtful about leaving it in my possession.”

“Well, Inspector,” said the manager, “it’s just a little difficult. As you know, we have been breaking all the rules in allowing you to examine the contents of this safe at all. And I feel that I shouldn’t allow anything from it to go out of our possession, you see.” His voice tailed away into doubtful silence, and he looked at Shelley, obviously in some embarrassment at having to disagree with the great man from Scotland Yard.

“I tell you what I’ll do,” said Shelley. “I’ll ring up the Yard, and get one of our photographers to come around here and photograph that picture. How will that suit you?”