“The East-European Jews are not a very pure breed,” said Thorndyke. “You will see many a face of that type in Whitechapel High-street and the Jewish quarters hard by.”
At this point, deserting the work-table, I came and looked over Marion’s shoulder at the mask which she was holding at arm’s length. And then I got a surprise of the most singular kind, for I recognized the face at a glance.
“What is it, Gray?” asked Thorndyke, who had apparently observed my astonishment.
“This is the most extraordinary coincidence!” I exclaimed. “Do you remember my speaking to you about a certain Mr. Morris?”
“The dealer in antiques?” he queried.
“Yes. Well, this is his face.”
He regarded me for some moments with a strangely intent expression. Then he asked: “When you say that this is Morris’ face, do
