“Wrong again,” said Iff drearily. “Honest, it’s a real shame, the way you can’t seem to win any bets at all.”
“If you’re not Ismay, what made you hide?”
“Ah!” cried Iff admiringly—“shrewd and pertinent question! Now I’ll tell you, and you won’t believe me. Because—now pay strict attention—because we’re near-twins.”
“Who are twins?” demanded Staff staring.
“Him and me—Ismay and I-double-F. First cousins we are: his mother was my aunt. Worse and more of it: our fathers were brothers. They married the same day; Ismay and I were born in the same month. We look just enough alike to be mistaken for one another when we’re not together. That’s been a great help to him; he’s made me more trouble than I’ve time to tell you. The last time, I was pinched in his place and escaped a penitentiary sentence by the narrowest kind of a shave. That got my mad up, and I served notice on him to quit his foolishness or I’d get after him. He replied by cooking up a fine little scheme that almost laid me by the heels again. So I declared war and ’ve been camping on his trail ever since.”
He paused and twiddled his thumbs, staring reflectively at the ceiling. “I’m sure I don’t know why I bore myself telling you all this. What’s the use?”
“Never mind,” said Staff in an encouraging manner; he was genuinely diverted. “At worst it’s a worthy and uplifting—ah—fiction. Go on.... Then you’re not a Secret Service man after all?”
“Nothing like that; I’m doing this thing on my own.”
“How about that forged paper you showed the captain?”
“Wasn’t forged—genuine.”