Almost involuntarily James Grey fixed his eyes on the frank, handsome face of his nephew, as he stood intrepidly before him, and he was forced, however reluctantly, to admit to himself that the resemblance was indeed very striking.
The case was getting more serious than he had expected. Gilbert had already been recognized as the missing son of John Grey, and that by a man whose testimony would carry great weight. Old Jacob had testified not only to his identity, but to the wrongful compact by which Gilbert had been spirited away to suit his uncle's rapacity. Were this publicly known, his reputation would be destroyed, and he would be deprived of the wealth which he had labored so dishonestly to acquire. Evidently the claim was not to be disposed of so easily as he had at first supposed.
"What do you call yourself?" he asked.
"Gilbert Grey."
"Of course you would take the name of the boy you pretend to be."
"Then you don't believe I am Gilbert Grey?"
"No, I do not. I believe that Gilbert Grey is dead."
"Are you willing to come with me to Mr. Ferguson's, and speak to him about it?"
"No, I am not. I have not time. I must leave Cincinnati at once."
"Then will you tell me where you live?"