"Very well; that's my opinion, too. Now, then, as to the boy's identity. There must be no mistake in proving that. What proof have you? Tell me what you know about it."
Thus requested, Craft gave to the lawyer a detailed account of the disaster at the bridge, of the finding and keeping of Ralph, of his mysterious disappearance, and of the prolonged search for him.
"Day before yesterday," continued the old man, "I was watching the crowds at the circus,—I knew the boy was fond of circuses,—an who should go by me into the tent but this same Ralph. I made sure he was the identical person, and yesterday I went to Robert Burnham, and got that paper."
"Indeed! Where does the boy live? what does he do?"
"Why, it seems that he works at picking slate, in Burnham's own breaker, and lives with one Bachelor Billy, a simple-minded old fellow, without a family, who took the boy in when he was abandoned by the circus."
"Good!" exclaimed the lawyer; "good! we shall have a capital case. But wait; does Mrs. Burnham know of your interview with her husband, or about this paper?"
"I don't know. I left the man at his office, alone."
"At what hour?"
"Well, about half-past four, as nearly as I can judge."
"Then it's not at all probable that she knows. He went from his office directly to the breaker, and died before she could see him."