“Exactly. That is what I have been counting on. Your brother is almost certain to receive an invitation to this supper.”
“It is very likely that he may.”
“Well, you have been mistaken for him hundreds of times. In fact, your very best friends have trouble in telling you apart. Now, can’t you fix it some way that the invitation will not reach the hand of your brother?”
Roland whistled.
“I begin to see your little game,” he said. “It is rather daring, to say the least.”
“But you have worked just as daring games before. You have impersonated your brother more than once. Dressed in his clothes, who can say you are—not—Oliver?”
Defarge’s voice sank, and he spoke the final words slowly, staring hard at Roland. Packard noticed this queer look and caught the strange hesitation in the French youth’s voice.
“Well, what the dickens is the matter with you?” he exclaimed harshly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I—I was thinking,” faltered Bertrand.
“Thinking what?”