Mrs Staines ventured to speak. “’Deed, sir, but you have a look of Master Robert.”
“My good Maggie, you ought to know that I am Master Robert,” said his lordship. “I perfectly remember you.”
She stared. “You do know my name, sir. But your lordship will pardon me — it is so long ago, and you’ve changed, my lord.”
“So it would appear,” said his lordship. “I said I should satisfy you, gentlemen.”
“Pardon, sir,” Mr Brent interposed. “It seems a proof certainly. But we must not forget that you might have been told of this.”
“How?” inquired my lord. “No one but myself knew of it.”
“I am assuming, sir, for the moment, that you are not Tremaine.”
“An impertinence,” said my lord. “But I suppose I must forgive it. Pray continue. The legal mind is very wonderful.”
“And if — I only say if, sir — you are not Tremaine, you might have heard this from the man himself.”
My lord looked at him in blank astonishment. It was Clevedale who spoke. “Lord, what in the plague’s name would Tremaine tell such a secret for?”