"All the world—yes!—all except our friend here," said Owlett, nodding towards Helmsley. "You didn't know, my man, did you, that there was a multi-millionaire existing of the same name as yourself?"
"No, sir, I did not!" answered Helmsley. "I hope he's made his Will!"
"I hope he has!" laughed the attorney. "There'll be a big haul for the Crown if he hasn't!"
Prindle, meanwhile, was slowly writing "James George Prindle, Clerk to the aforesaid Robert Owlett" underneath his legal employer's signature.
"I should suggest," said Mr. Owlett, addressing David, jocosely, "that you go and make yourself known to the rich Mr. Helmsley as a namesake of his!"
"Would you, sir? And why?"
"Well, he might be interested. Men as rich as he is always want a new 'sensation' to amuse them. And he might, for all you know, make you a handsome present, or leave you a little legacy!"
Helmsley smiled—he very nearly laughed. But he carefully guarded his equanimity.
"Thank you for the hint, sir! I'll try and see him some day!"
"I hear he's dead," said Prindle, finishing the signing of his name and laying down his pen. "It was in the papers some time back."