“Even if I were convinced that poor Harry was dead,” he said, “I should not deliver up the money till you had established a legal claim to it.”
“So you mean to put all possible obstacles in my way,” said John Fox, provoked. “I thought so. But, Mr. Howard, let me tell you that you can’t rob the orphan.”
“Meaning yourself?”
“No, I mean the dead boy—that is the orphan’s estate—without settling with me. I am a man of influence, I’d have you know, and I’ll put the matter in the hands of the lawyer right off.”
“It might be well, first, to listen to what I have to say.”
“Aha! he’s scared!” thought John Fox.
“I’m ready to hear what you’ve got to say,” he answered, “but it won’t influence me a particle.”
“I think it will. Harry Vane is alive!”
“What!” ejaculated John Fox, his face expressing his dismay. “It’s a lie. I don’t believe it.”
“Georgie,” said Mr. Howard to his little son, who just then entered the room, “go to my desk and bring me Harry Vane’s letter.”