"Er—yes, Miss Richlander—er—a disagreeable duty, you know. I wanted to ask about this young man, Smith. We don't know him very well here in Brewster, and as he has considerable business dealings with the bank, we—that is, I thought your father might be able to tell us something about his standing in his home town."
"And my father did tell you?"
"Well—yes; he—er—he says Smith is a—a grand rascal; a fugitive from justice; and we thought—" David Kinzie, well hardened in all the processes of dealing with men, was making difficult weather of it with this all-too-beautiful young woman.
Miss Richlander's laugh was well restrained. She seemed to be struggling earnestly to make it appear so.
"You business gentlemen are so funny!" she commented. "You know, of course, Mr. Kinzie, that this Mr. Smith and I are old friends; you've probably seen us together enough to be sure of that. Hasn't it occurred to you that however well I might know the Mr. Smith my father has written you about, I should hardly care to be seen in public with him?"
"Then there are two of them?" Kinzie demanded.
The young woman was laughing again. "Would that be so very wonderful?—with so many Smiths in the world?"
"But—er—the middle name, Miss Richlander: that isn't so infern—so very common, I'm sure."
"It is rather remarkable, isn't it? But there are a good many Montagues in our part of the world, too. The man my father wrote you about always signed himself 'J. Montague', as if he were a little ashamed of the 'John'."
"Then this Brewster Smith isn't the one who is wanted in Lawrenceville for embezzlement and attempted murder?"