"Same face!" he murmured. "Older—more serious expression, but same shaped head—same features." Aloud he added: "If, as you say, you are John Armitage, you have, of course, some way of identifying yourself. You see we have to be very careful."
Armitage laughed.
"I don't happen to have a passport," he said. "When I left England some fifteen years ago I didn't think I'd require one. But I've a mark on my left arm, a rough tattooing of the Armitage crest, which I did in my foolish boyhood days. And I have some letters which my mother wrote me after I left home. Those I've treasured. I let everything else go, but her letters I kept." Placing his hand over his heart, he added: "They're here."
As Mr. Willoughby grew more and more interested he became more and more nervous.
"Let me see them," he said impatiently.
Armitage opened his vest and drawing forth a small package of yellow-stained letters tied with a bit of ribbon, he handed them over.
"I guess we have no secrets from you," he said. "You may read them."
Mr. Willoughby untied the package, opened a letter and glanced hurriedly at the handwriting and signature. Then he handed them back.
"That's enough," he cried. "That's enough." Starting forward, he extended his hand.
"My dear Sir John—allow me to congratulate you!"