“Then what possible chance had he to escape?”
“He might have been rescued by a passing vessel.”
“Look here, Mr. Howard,” said Fox indignantly, “you don’t mean what you say. You evidently mean to keep that money from the lawful claimants. I am not much surprised. I expected it. But I can tell you here and now that John Fox isn’t a man to be cheated and imposed upon. I mean to have my rights.”
“Are you aware, Mr. Fox, that your language is offensive and insulting?”
“I don’t care. I came here for justice. That money ought not to be in your hands, who are no kith nor kin to Harry Vane. It ought to go to me, and I mean to sue you for it.”
“Mr. Fox, I propose to obey the law, but it appears to me that you are taking it for granted that Harry Vane is dead without sufficient proof.”
“What more proof do you want than this paragraph? The fact is, you don’t want to believe it.”
“No!” answered Mr. Howard in a tone of emotion, “I don’t want to believe that poor Harry is dead.”
“Nor I,” said John Fox. “If the boy hadn’t been foolish and left my happy home, he’d have been alive to-day. But we can’t alter facts. He’s dead, and all our grief won’t bring him back.”
Benjamin Howard looked at the man curiously. “His grief doesn’t seem to be very profound,” he thought. “I will test him.”