“But, really,” Mrs. Wells seemed very much concerned, “I can’t see why he should not have said Galloway from the beginning.”
The attempt to make clear Jawn’s reason for an incognito was not very successful, due to the fact that Richard’s incognito could not be explained. Even Jawn saw that. Both Richard and Jerry gave him open signals that it would not be politic to try to clear up two incognitos in one evening—all of which was not lost on Walter—and Mrs. Wells’ disturbed face was ample evidence that silence on that score was the best policy.
“I’ll tell you how it is,” Jawn jumped into the breach. “My real name is De Lancey, but when a lad I was adopted by a wealthy New York banker named Galloway. Well, he lost all his money and died leaving me nothing but the name. Naturally I sometimes forget and use the old one out of habit.”
The romantic explanation pleased Mrs. Wells immensely. She grew tremendously interested in the rich banker and wanted to know many particulars. Jawn was never at a loss for details.
Walter was keenly interested in Jawn’s talk but, he told himself, he was not at all taken in by it. A numbing remembrance of the afternoon’s suspicions came into the background of his mind and settled there. It was a spectre at all his banquets of happiness: it darted its chill into his best re-visioning of even that latest chat with Phœbe when she called him a handsome young bachelor and hinted scandalous things. So it behoved him to prepare his defences against attack.
The situation was very clear to Walter. This “Mr. Richard” was some sort of a confidence man. He first attracted the ladies and then subtracted their purses, or borrowed huge sums from them on bad notes, or got them to invest in worthless stocks. He had heard about these fellows. The books were full of them—not only the paper-backs, either, but real books—meaning cloth-covers—like Wallingford and Blacky Daw and Raffles. Jawn, of course, was a detective on the trail of Richard. In spite of all his joking and laughing, anyone could see that he kept his eye on Richard. Did Richard know that he was being trailed? Walter suspected that he did not.
He wondered if it were criminal to use another man’s name, a big man’s name at that, one whose reputation was world-wide, whose millions of money earned as railroad and steamship owner, international banker and dealer in monopolies in general, had made his name known even to children. That was the name on the card tacked carelessly on “Mr. Richard’s” door. He must be engaged in crime on a big scale to need to assume that name. And why had he changed it? And what was his real name? These were questions which Walter would like answered. Perhaps a little careful probing of Jerry would tell him something.
Later in the evening she was conscious of his following her about. In the tail of her eye she could see him sidling along the hall as she turned into a room, or standing afar off and watching strangely while she talked to someone. One got used to having a “queer” brother in the house, but these movements, stealthy and clumsy at once, were not usual.
“Want to see yuh,” he said to her finally.
“All right, Walter,” she agreed; “go out on the porch and sit beside ‘Waga.’”