The address was an hotel in Monte Video, and the date about two years before.
"What—what's all this rigmarole?" gasped Andrew. "It's sheer nonsense from beginning to end."
His unwelcome guest was again shaken with boyish laughter.
"Prove it!" he cried. "Prove it's nonsense! Eh? How'll you manage that?"
Andrew's face grew darker and darker.
"Who does 'Harris' profess to be, I'd like to know?"
"Grandson of Mrs. Harris!" laughed Heriot.
"What Mrs. Harris?"
"Sarah Gamp's pal."