“Yes,” I replied, “I asked for Commander Wintermute.”
“I am he,” replied the gentleman. “Though I certainly fail to recognize either your name or your face. There must be a mistake.”
“There certainly seems to be,” I answered, “unless there is another gentleman in your family. The one I am seeking is William Wintermute, whose mother’s name was Russell.”
“Then I am certainly the man,” responded my companion. “My name is William Wintermute and my mother’s name was Russell. There is no other gentleman living in the house, and so far as I have ever heard there is no other William Wintermute anywhere.”
There was nothing to be done except to apologize and take my leave, which I did as gracefully as I could under the circumstances.
At last I was angry with Russell. I had been puzzled by him often enough. This time I was filled with resentment.
I at once sought out the law office of Wintermute and Russell. The card, which I had preserved, gave me all necessary information as to its whereabouts, and I was not long in finding it. Mr. Wintermute was there. So was Mr. Russell. But neither was the man for whom I was looking. Neither had ever heard of him.
I was still left puzzling over these questions:—
Who is Russell?
Is he after all a liar?