'You're an imposture,' cried Clacher fiercely, staggering a little. 'I'm mad, but I'm no jist a fule, an' naebody daur harm me. Ach!' he hissed, grinding his teeth and shaking his wild hair, enraged at himself for failing to do it 'Englified.' 'I am Robert Chartres,' he shouted, throwing back his head. 'The estate's entailed, and it's mine. I'm bonnie Prince Charlie, too,' he added, more quietly.
'Take a seat,' said Lee. 'Let us all sit down again.'
Clacher stumbled into a chair. Miss Jane forgave Dempster with her eyes, and they sat on a couch together. Muriel stood beside a window with one hand wrapped in the curtain. Briscoe sat opposite Lee, who threw himself back on a large chair on one side of the fireplace. Clacher's chair was against the wall, not far from the door.
'Jane,' said Lee, 'I find no resemblance between this gentleman and Robert. Do you?'
'Not the slightest,' said Miss Jane.
'Do yon, Muriel?'
'None.'
'Well, friend,' said Lee, turning to Clacher. 'What have you to say, now?'
'I am Robert Chartres.'
'But none of us recognise you. Recall yourself to our memories in some way.'