“He never did,” said the Bald Impostor promptly. “I was his third sister’s adopted child—I am an adopted nephew. And of course you know he would never have anything to do with his sister after she married—ah—General Winston Wells. Not a thing! It was what killed my poor foster mother. Grief!”
He wiped his eyes with his silk handkerchief.
“Grief. Yes, grief. And I hadn’t the heart to bring shame to the old man by arresting the Impostor in his house—by showing that the good old man was such a silly old fellow as to be done by a simple trick. And what did it matter? I can pick up the Bald Impostor in Derlingport.”
“In Derlingport?” queried Philo Gubb.
“In Derlingport,” said the Bald Impostor nervously, “for that is where he went. I’ll get him there. But half of the thousand dollars is rightfully yours, and you shall have it.”
“Thousand dollars?” queried Philo Gubb in amazement.
“The reward has been increased,” said the false Mr. Burns. “The—the publishers of ‘Who’s Who’ increased it to a thousand because the Bald Impostor works on the names in their book. They thought they ought to. But you shall have your half of the thousand. I can pick him up in Derlingport this afternoon if—if I can get there in time. And of course I should have arrested him here in Riverbank where you are our correspondent and thus entitled to half the reward earned by any one in the head office. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“No!” said Philo Gubb. “Am I?”
“Didn’t you get circular No. 786?” asked the Bald Impostor.