“A spy?” Rascomb smiled broadly. “Well, possibly, but I doubt it. I’ll admit his life had mysterious aspects. Yet he was an interesting man, most interesting.”
“In some ways you remind me of him,” Flash said boldly. “You have the same dark eyes and facial contours. When first I saw you it struck me you might be related.”
“Indeed? Povy had no relatives in this country. That was why I claimed his body—from a feeling of charity. So you think I resemble him, eh?”
“It was only a first impression. Povy’s face had an ugly scar. Your voice and manner are entirely different from his.”
“Then you are satisfied I have not adopted a disguise?” Rascomb asked lightly.
“Quite satisfied.”
“No doubt it may strike you as strange that I should befriend a man of Povy’s type,” Rascomb went on after a moment. “I never did believe all the stories about him. And, as I say, he was an interesting fellow and very entertaining.”
“Where was Povy buried, Mr. Rascomb?”
“In the church yard at Clear Lake. The grave has no marker as yet. I expect to arrange for one soon. Perhaps you would like to visit the cemetery?”
“No, I believe not,” Flash declined. “Povy meant nothing to me.”