"True. Which would you rather it was—true or false?"
"False, without a question."
"Despite the fact that it establishes your identity?"
"Certainly. Any man who feels as I do now must loathe to have such a brutal thing as that dug up out of his past."
"Good. I'm glad to hear you say that." He smiled as if he was really glad, but there was something else behind his questions that left me guessing as usual.
If he accepted the woman's recognition as settling the matter of my identification as Lassen, was it better to leave it there or risk unsettling him again by telling him about the subsequent interview with her? Rather a nice point to decide. But his next question cleared the course and concealment kicked the beam.
"You'd like to have the matter investigated?"
"Certainly," I replied promptly. Very few official inquiries would give him the truth, and it was thus much better to tell it myself. "I was going to ask your advice about it. I know that part of her story is false; she owned it; and I doubt all the rest;" and I described the interview.
This appeared to both interest and amuse him, especially my instant offer to marry Anna; and he expressed his appreciation in the equivocal fashion. "It was clever, my boy; quite the best line. You must have had considerable experience in bluffing people;" and there was a glint in his keen eyes which might have meant anything. "You can act well too, or you'd never have dragged that confession out of her. She must have thought you were in earnest."
"I was, sir. If she can prove that I am the man she thinks, I will marry her."