Fred. Yours! Pray may I inquire who you are?
Harry. One who for five years has watched your course, knowing you to be a villain, waiting for the proof; one who has watched you first squander the rich inheritance of your father, then fall among the ruined and degraded, living as a speculator and gambler; one who has proof of your last crime, the forging of the name of Dunshaw & Co.,—the hunted felon under the name of John Robinson. (Enter Butts, C.)
Butts. John Robinson here! then who the deuse are you?
Harry. Belmer—did you find him?
Butts. Mr. Belmer waits without.
Fred. Belmer—that name! He here? Then I am caught at last.
Harry. Yes: Belmer, the detective of Sacramento, waits for you. Shall I call him in?
Fred. No, no: I’ll see him outside. So, so! run to earth like a fox! Well, I’ll put a good face on it. Friends, I have a pressing engagement; will you excuse me? I should not have come to this place; but—but—
Lucy. Fred, Mr. Hastings, you once professed a regard for me: if it was sincere, I beg you clear my brother’s name.
Fred. For your sake, Lucy, yes. I did forge the name of Dr. Harlem to the check used by Harry.