"Do you not know Jimmie?" asked her sister. "Don't stare so,
dearest." Her tone was pleading.
"Perhaps the young lady has some difficulty in recognizing Mr.
Turnbull in his disguise," suggested Ferguson, who stood somewhat
in the background but closely observing the scene.
"Disguise!" Helen raised her eyes and Ferguson, hardened as he
had become to tragic scenes, felt a throb of pity as he caught
the pent-up agony in her mute appeal.
"Yes, Miss," he said awkwardly. "The burglar you caught in your
house was Mr. Turnbull in disguise.
Barbara McIntyre released her grasp of her sister's arm and
collapsed on a chair. Stone, still supporting Helen, felt her
muscles grow taut and an instant later she stepped back from his
side and stood by her sister. As the two girls faced the circle
of men, the likeness between them was extraordinary. Each had
the same slight graceful figure, equal height; and feature for
feature, coloring matching coloring, they were identical; their
gowns, even, were cut on similar lines, only their hats varied in
shape and color.
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