With a supreme effort Bullard controlled himself.
"Marvel," he said, "what do you expect to gain by bringing me a lie like that?"
"It is no lie," the other returned with a fairly straight glance. "I was as near to him as I am to you at this moment. He was in a labourer's clothes—"
"Nonsense!"
"—working with a gang on the quay."
"You were mistaken. The search party gave up in despair."
"I know nothing of that, Mr. Bullard, but I'm prepared to take oath—"
"There is no need for Alan Craig, if it were he, to be working as a quay labourer. I tell you—"
"I am so sure of what I say, Mr. Bullard, that failing to get my price from you, I will cross the Atlantic again, working my passage if need be, to place the documents in the hands of that quay labourer. Since his uncle old Christopher is dead, there must be something pretty solid awaiting him." Marvel, stooping leisurely, picked up his hat and carefully eliminated the dent.
"Look here," said Bullard, breaking a silence. "Did you or did you not swindle me with those papers?"