“It must have been young Mr. Todhetley,” spoke he; “everything seemed to uphold the fact.”
“Now don’t you turn obstinate and uphold what is not the fact,” reproved the Squire. “When I tell you this is my only son, except the child, how dare you dispute my word?”
It should be stated that Stephenson had been with the silversmith since the beginning of the year only, and had come from Birmingham. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Todhetley by sight, from their coming sometimes to the shop, but he had never yet seen Tod or me.
“I don’t suppose you want Squire Todhetley’s word confirmed, Stephenson, but I can do so if necessary,” said Mr. Corles. “This is his only grown-up son.”
“No, no, sir, of course I don’t,” said Stephenson. “This gentleman,” looking at Tod, “does not bear any resemblance to the one who changed the note.”
“What was he like?” said Tom Chandler, speaking for the first time; and he asked it because his thoughts were full.
“He was fair, sir,” replied Stephenson.
“What height?”
“About middle height. A young, slender man.”