Sharpman looked at the young man incredulously. "You do not expect me to believe that?" he said. "You certainly do not mean what you are saying?"
There was a noise in the outer room as of some one entering from the street. Sharpman did not hear it; he was too busily engaged in thinking. Rhyming Joe gave a quick glance at the room door, which stood slightly ajar, then, turning in his chair to face the lawyer, he said deliberately and with emphasis:—
"I say the boy Ralph is not Robert Burnham's son."
For a moment Sharpman sat quietly staring at his visitor; then, in a voice which betrayed his effort to remain calm, he said:—
"What right have you to make such a statement as this? How can you prove it?"
"Well, in the first place I knew the boy's father, and he was not
Robert Burnham, I assure you."
"Who was he?"
"Simon Craft's son."
"Then Ralph is—?"
"Old Simon's grandchild."