He crossed to the desk and sat down, staring at Fishpingle, who, to his amazement, took his place on the hearthrug.
“Does anything strike you, Sir Geoffrey? God knows that I want the light to come to you not too suddenly.”
“I am helplessly in the dark.”
“Please look at Sir Rupert’s portrait, and then at me.”
Sir Geoffrey did so, and was none the wiser. He said as much. Fishpingle said quietly:
“I am his son.”
Sir Geoffrey jumped up.
“My father’s son—you. It’s a wicked lie.”
“Is it? Look again!”
Sir Geoffrey glared first at Fishpingle and then at the picture. He said irresolutely: