“And the murderer tried to kiss him, you say — how very odd Italians are! — and gave himself up to the police! Mr. Beebe was saying that Italians know everything, but I think they are rather childish. When my cousin and I were at the Pitti yesterday — What was that?”

He had thrown something into the stream.

“What did you throw in?”

“Things I didn't want,” he said crossly.

“Mr. Emerson!”

“Well?”

“Where are the photographs?”

He was silent.

“I believe it was my photographs that you threw away.”