“Read,” I said. “It’s all there.”
He read.
“Good heavens!” he said.
“You didn’t do a thing to His Serene Nibs, did you?”
“Reggie, this is awful.”
“Cheer up. They say he’ll recover.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does to him.”
He read the paper again.
“It says they’ve a clue.”
“They always say that.”
“But—My hat!”
“Eh?”
“My hat. I must have dropped it during the scrap. This man, Denman
Sturgis, must have found it. It had my name in it!”
“George,” I said, “you mustn’t waste time. Oh!”
He jumped a foot in the air.
“Don’t do it!” he said, irritably. “Don’t bark like that. What’s the
matter?”
“The man!”
“What man?”
“A tall, thin man with an eye like a gimlet. He arrived just before you
did. He’s down in the saloon now, having breakfast. He said he wanted
to see you on business, and wouldn’t give his name. I didn’t like the
look of him from the first. It’s this fellow Sturgis. It must be.”
“No!”
“I feel it. I’m sure of it.”
“Had he a hat?”
“Of course he had a hat.”
“Fool! I mean mine. Was he carrying a hat?”
“By Jove, he _was_ carrying a parcel. George, old scout, you must get a
move on. You must light out if you want to spend the rest of your life
out of prison. Slugging a Serene Highness is _lèse-majesté_. It’s worse
than hitting a policeman. You haven’t got a moment to waste.”
“But I haven’t any money. Reggie, old man, lend me a tenner or
something. I must get over the frontier into Italy at once. I’ll wire
my uncle to meet me in——”
“Look out,” I cried; “there’s someone coming!”
He dived out of sight just as Voules came up the companion-way,
carrying a letter on a tray.
“What’s the matter!” I said. “What do you want?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought I heard Mr. Lattaker’s voice. A
letter has arrived for him.”
“He isn’t here.”
“No, sir. Shall I remove the letter?”
“No; give it to me. I’ll give it to him when he comes.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Oh, Voules! Are they all still at breakfast? The gentleman who came to
see Mr. Lattaker? Still hard at it?”
“He is at present occupied with a kippered herring, sir.”
“Ah! That’s all, Voules.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He retired. I called to George, and he came out.
“Who was it?”
“Only Voules. He brought a letter for you. They’re all at breakfast
still. The sleuth’s eating kippers.”
“That’ll hold him for a bit. Full of bones.” He began to read his
letter. He gave a kind of grunt of surprise at the first paragraph.
“Well, I’m hanged!” he said, as he finished.
“Reggie, this is a queer thing.”
“What’s that?”
He handed me the letter, and directly I started in on it I saw why he
had grunted. This is how it ran:—
“My dear George,—
I shall be seeing you to-morrow, I hope; but I think it is
better, before we meet, to prepare you for a curious situation
that has arisen in connection with the legacy which your father
inherited from your Aunt Emily, and which you are expecting
me, as trustee, to hand over to you, now that you have reached
your twenty-fifth birthday. You have doubtless heard your
father speak of your twin-brother Alfred, who was lost or
kidnapped—which, was never ascertained—when you were both
babies. When no news was received of him for so many years, it
was supposed that he was dead. Yesterday, however, I received
a letter purporting that he had been living all this time in
Buenos Ayres as the adopted son of a wealthy South American,
and has only recently discovered his identity. He states that
he is on his way to meet me, and will arrive any day now. Of
course, like other claimants, he may prove to be an impostor,
but meanwhile his intervention will, I fear, cause a certain
delay before I can hand over your money to you. It will be
necessary to go into a thorough examination of credentials,
etc., and this will take some time. But I will go fully into
the matter with you when we meet.
Your affectionate uncle,
“AUGUSTUS ARBUTT.”
I read it through twice, and the second time I had one of those ideas I
do sometimes get, though admittedly a chump of the premier class. I
have seldom had such a thoroughly corking brain-wave.
“Why, old top,” I said, “this lets you out.”
“Lets me out of half the darned money, if that’s what you mean. If this
chap’s not an imposter—and there’s no earthly reason to suppose he is,
though I’ve never heard my father say a word about him—we shall have to
split the money. Aunt Emily’s will left the money to my father, or,
failing him, his ‘offspring.’ I thought that meant me, but apparently
there are a crowd of us. I call it rotten work, springing unexpected
offspring on a fellow at the eleventh hour like this.”
“Why, you chump,” I said, “it’s going to save you. This lets you out of
your spectacular dash across the frontier. All you’ve got to do is to
stay here and be your brother Alfred. It came to me in a flash.”
He looked at me in a kind of dazed way.
“You ought to be in some sort of a home, Reggie.”
“Ass!” I cried. “Don’t you understand? Have you ever heard of
twin-brothers who weren’t exactly alike? Who’s to say you aren’t Alfred
if you swear you are? Your uncle will be there to back you up that you
have a brother Alfred.”
“And Alfred will be there to call me a liar.”
“He won’t. It’s not as if you had to keep it up for the rest of your
life. It’s only for an hour or two, till we can get this detective off
the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning.”
At last the thing seemed to sink into him. His face brightened.
“Why, I really do believe it would work,” he said.
“Of course it would work. If they want proof, show them your mole. I’ll
swear George hadn’t one.”
“And as Alfred I should get a chance of talking to Stella and making
things all right for George. Reggie, old top, you’re a genius.”
“No, no.”
“You _are_.”
“Well, it’s only sometimes. I can’t keep it up.”
And just then there was a gentle cough behind us. We spun round.
“What the devil are you doing here, Voules,” I said.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I have heard all.”