"You can prove nothing. You may say you're my father if you like—"
"God forbid!" Heriot interrupted devoutly. "I've had enough of fathering a bogle. Claim any sire you like from Lucifer downwards, but don't put the blame on me. I won't be disgraced with you again; not at any price."
For a few moments Andrew seemed to be in travail of a fitting repartee. When it appeared it possessed all the practical characteristics of its parent.
"In that case," he retorted, "you had better clear out of my house as quick as you can."
Heriot regarded him with extreme composure.
"Do you actually imagine you are going to get off as easy as this?" he inquired, "Man Andrew, I haven't been senior partner in Walkingshaw & Gilliflower for nothing. You're just a rat in a trap. That's precisely your position at this moment."
"I'd be glad to hear you explain how you make that out," said Andrew.
Heriot smiled humorously as he produced a bulky pocket-book. Out of this he selected one of many letters it contained.
"Do you know the writing?" he asked.