PURT. And then he murdered you—or tried to as you say—took your papers from you, and came over here to impersonate you?
HANN. I suppose so.
ALLEN. He was uncommonly like you, too.
HANN. Like me! Not at all!
PURT. Oh, yes, my dear sir, I never saw him alive, but his features were yours one for one.
HANN. Dan Cassidy was no more like me than I’m like a colored angel out of a picture book.
(Purt. and Allen exchange glances.)
ALLEN. Well, all I know is, that if the man who called himself Richard Hanningford, and who fell down dead in my mother’s kitchen three months ago was standing beside you now, nobody would know which wur you and which wur him. .
HANN. (Rising.) I don’t know that man! (All rise and look at one another.)
(Enter Peters c.)