It was the second Saturday of August 1894 when Mrs Avery of Berkeley Square brought to us a quarrel as singular as it was distressing.
"I sat for Mr Coltsfoot in his Mayfair studio on Wednesday last, Mr Holmes - three sittings, an hour each. The proof came home on Friday afternoon. I have it here. The face upon the plate is not mine. The hair is mine; the dress is mine; the small earrings are mine. The face - the face is, I think, my companion's. Miss Brooke has been with me since the autumn."
We walked across to Mr Coltsfoot's studio in Mount Street through a warm August afternoon. Coming up the photographer's stair we passed a young clerk in a threadbare dark suit with a brown leather portfolio under his arm; his left middle finger was as black as printer's ink, and he kept his face from the gas-lamp as he descended. Mr Coltsfoot's studio was a long, light room with a panelled screen, three velvet chairs, and the photographer's plate-camera on a stand by the window.