There was no other explanation needed just now. There were two Mr. Hilliards! One was the real one—before them. Philip felt that at once. The other had been a sham one, a somebody else—an impostor! Who was he, and what could he have wanted by so unaccountable a trick? Or was there, behind his conduct, more than a trick?
[CHAPTER VI.]
A RIDDLE NOT EASILY ANSWERED—THE “OLD PROVINCE.”
It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening. Gerald was in bed and asleep. Mr. Hilliard was lying back in his leather arm-chair, his eyes resting thoughtfully on the ceiling.
Opposite him, looking into his face, sat Philip.
“Well,” remarked his host, “here we have sat ever since dinner, going over the whole affair from beginning to end! We’re not any closer to solving some knots in it than we were when we started. Still, I fancy we’ve guessed all that is necessary, my boy. You’re tired out. So am I. What’s left gets the best of me completely. We’d better go to bed.”
“And what about your advertising, sir?”
“O, that must be attended to, of course; as soon as George comes, in fact. It will not likely trace the scamp or make any difference, so far as you and Gerald are concerned. It may protect me, though, if he continues to sail under my colors for any length of time.”