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THE STRAND MAGAZINE , 
of the matter is I’m very anxious to oblige her. 
She’s a most remarkable-looking young lady.” 
“ Oh. she’s young, is she ? ” said Nugent. 
“Very young. Mr. Nugent, hardly more 
than a child to look at, though I’m sure she’s 
twenty-five or six, really. Inspector Harrison 
rang me up and asked me to go round and see 
her, and of course I thought it was the usual 
scoundrel from Lisson Grove, or perhaps a 
burglar. But instead of that kind of ruffian, 
to whom 1 am thoroughly accustomed, it was 
a young lady.” 
“ Ah, is she really that ? ” asked Nugent. 
“ Undoubtedly,” replied Smith. “ Do you 
know what I said when I saw her I mean 
what I said to myself ? ” 
“ No,” said Nugent. 
“ Well, begging your pardon, Mr. Nugent, 
1 said, ‘ By heavens, the young Sistine 
Madonna ! 5 ” 
Mr. Smith looked perhaps the last man in 
London to know anything about the Sistine 
Madonna, and Nugent stared at him. 
“ Ah,” said Nugent, “ the Sistine Madonna ? 
Then you know the picture ? ” 
“ I have never seen the original,” said the 
solicitor, sorrowfully, “ but I’ve got three 
reproductions of it in my house. I’m very 
fond of engravings, sir, especially of Madonnas. 
I. don’t know why, but I am. Oh, I should 
very much like you, Mr. Nugent, to strain a 
point and defend her.” 
“ What’s the defence ? ” asked Nugent. 
The solicitor shook his head. 
“ The girl’s looks,” he said. “ Nothing 
else, upon my oath and affidavit.” 
“ And will these appeal to the magistrate ? ” 
According to Smith they would possibly 
not appeal to Mr. Chisholm. He shook his 
head dolorously. 
“ Two assistants swear to it. and her,” he 
said, “ and the firm has been getting rather 
vicious lately. But there, she’s quite won- 
derful. T don’t know what it is — there was 
something about her which quite upset me.” 
“ She’s wonderful, is she ? ” asked Nugent. 
u Quite wonderful,” said Mr. Smith. 
“ You’ll see what I mean in one minute. T 
give you my word that when I saw her it was 
just as if 1 saw the young Madonna, As 1 
said, I’m very fond of pictures — I’ve got an 
etching of Rembrandt’s at home.” 
4i Oh, have you ? ” said Nugent. 
“ Yes, 1 picked it up for one-and-sixpence,” 
said Smith, in the delicious tremble of a happy 
connoisseur. 
“ I am half- inclined to do it for you,” said 
Nugent. 
“ Thank you,” said the solicitor. “ I’m 
most obliged to you. And could you do* 
something else for her ? ” continued the 
solicitor. “ She — she wants to see you.” 
It is not at all usual for a barrister to go to - 
the cells to see an ordinary prisoner in a police- 
court case. He takes his instructions from 
the solicitor, and does his work in open court , 
where he sees his client for the first time. 
“ You haven’t told me her name,” said the 
barrister. 
u Miss Nina Stewart.” 
“ Nina Stewart ? ” said Nugent, thought- 
fully. “ I don’t remember knowing anybody 
of the name. I did know some Stewarts 
many years ago, but then the father was 
pretty well off.” 
“ Then it couldn’t be the same,” said the 
solicitor. “ Of course, she may have seen 
you, or heard of you in some way. But I do 
wish you’d see her.” 
“ 1 think 1 might,” said Nugent. 
Somehow what Mr. Smith had said strangely 
interested him. He was obviously sincere, 
and it was very curious to see such a man 
understanding the beauty of the Madonna di 
San Sisto, and actually possessing an etching 
which he supposed to be a Rembrandt. 
“ Yes/’ said Nugent ; “ I’ll come now, if 
you like.” 
“ I should be very glad if you would,” said 
Mr. Smith. “ And as soon as I’ve taken you 
there and got through with it I’ve got to go 
down to Brixton to see her mother. I 
promised I would.” 
“ Then she has a mother ? ” said Nugent. 
“ Yes, an invalid,” said the solicitor. “ She 
is very anxious that she should not know. 
I’m going down to say that her daughter is 
staying in my house with my wife because 
she has sprained her ankle.” 
At the police-station Harrison, the house 
inspector, met them and saluted Mark Nugent 
respectfully, and they were taken directly to 
the girl’s cell. 
Outside the door the solicitor stopped, and 
said again, almost with agitation, “ Mr. 
Nugent, I give you my word— the Sistine 
Madonna when she was young.” 
As soon as the door swung open Mark 
Nugent felt that the little man had spoken 
the truth. But even more than that., though 
it perhaps came out of her likeness to the 
young Madonna of whom Smith spoke, he had 
a dim sense of far-off acquaintanceship with 
the girl whose eyes, pellucid and melancholy, 
rested on his own with a strange and nervous 
appeal. She was like something dimly 
remembered, like a dream recalled — some 
confused vision that repeats itself, that a 
