"Miss Gibson, sir?" repeated the parlourmaid in response to my question.
"She _was_ going out, but I am not sure whether she has gone yet. If you
will step in, I will go and see."

I followed her into the drawing-room, and, threading my way amongst the
litter of small tables and miscellaneous furniture by which ladies
nowadays convert their special domain into the semblance of a broker's
shop, let go my anchor in the vicinity of the fireplace to await the
parlourmaid's report.

I had not long to wait, for in less than a minute Miss Gibson herself
entered the room. She wore her hat and gloves, and I congratulated
myself on my timely arrival.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon, Dr. Jervis," she said,
holding out her hand with a frank and friendly manner, "but you are very
welcome all the same. You have come to tell me something?"

"On the contrary," I replied, "I have come to ask you something."

"Well, that is better than nothing," she said, with a shade of
disappointment. "Won't you sit down?"

I seated myself with caution on a dwarf chair of scrofulous aspect, and
opened my business without preamble.

"Do you remember a thing called a 'Thumbograph'?"

"Indeed I do," she replied with energy. "It was the cause of all this