"Listen to me, Brenda dear," he said, raising her head gently. "Do you remember the man so like me whom Harold saw?"
"The man with the crape scarf? Of course I remember him, father." She looked steadfastly at him, expecting a revelation since he had so unexpectedly introduced the subject. "I saw him in Trafalgar Square on the day of the meeting."
"And you knew that it was not me?"
"Yes; but he was so like you, that had he not been on the platform I might easily have mistaken him for you, like Harold did."
"Had you spoken to him you would have found out your mistake," sighed Scarse.
"I wanted to, but Mr. van Zwieten took him away."
"I know--I know. Brenda, I deceived you about that man for your own sake and for mine. I took his sins on my shoulders that he might not get into trouble."
"What?" Brenda's voice rose almost to a shriek. "Did he kill Mr. Malet?"
"No, no," replied her father, eagerly. "I can prove to you that he did not. But, Brenda, do you not wonder why he is so like me, and why I take so deep an interest in him?"
"I do wonder. I thought he might be a relative. But you denied it, and Aunt Julia said she had no relative but you."