"
Tom flushed, remembering his recent crime. But he was eager to question
the detective.
"Have you heard anything of Lucy Rogers, Mr. Burke?"
"Not yet."
"Is there no trace of her at all?"
"A slight trace--nothing worth mentioning," said Mr. Burke.
For a few moments Tom sat in silence. Then he said:
"I thought I'd found her, day before yesterday."
"Yes?" There was little interest in the tone.
"There's a girl in the house, sir, one of the maids, who is the living
image of Lucy Rogers."
"You ought to be able to identify her," suggested the detective, his
gaze still out of the window.
"But they are not alike except in looks. Her form and face are identical
with Lucy's. I was so sure that I begged her to let me see if there was
a scar on her left arm; but she refused."
"Was there a scar on Lucy Rogers's left arm?"
"Yes, sir. Several years ago, when we were children, we were making
candy in the kitchen and Lucy burned herself badly. It left a broad scar
on her left forearm, which she will bear as long as she lives."
"It is well to know that," said Mr. Burke.
"This girl," continued Tom, musingly, "says her name is Eliza Parsons,
and she says it in Lucy's voice. But her manner is not the same at all.
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