“You don’t know me, or you wouldn’t say that.”
“I do. You’re Smithers & Co.”
“True; and I’m several other people. I’ve had the pleasure of an extended intercourse with you. For I’m not only Smithers & Co., but I’m also Beamish & Hendricks, American merchants. I’m also Bigelow, Higginson, & Co., solicitors to Smithers & Co. Besides, I’m your London broker, who attended to your speculations in stocks. Perhaps you think that you don’t know me after all.”
As he said this Potts and John exchanged glances of wonder.
“Tricked!” cried Potts—“deceived! humbugged! and ruined! Who are you? What have you against me? Who are you? Who?”
And he gazed with intense curiosity upon the calm face of the stranger, who, in his turn, looked upon him with the air of one who was surveying from a superior height some feeble creature far beneath him.
“Who am I?” he repeated. “Who? I am the one to whom all this belongs. I am one whom you have injured so deeply, that what I have done to you is nothing in comparison.”
“Who are you?” cried Potts, with feverish impatience. “It’s a lie. I never injured you. I never saw you before till you came yourself to trouble me. Those whom I have injured are all dead, except that parson, the son of—of the officer.”
“There are others.”
Potts said nothing, but looked with some fearful discovery dawning upon him.