“Yes”—facing their concentrated regard with head thrown back, his face alight with hope and love, Alan’s voice rang out clearly. “Paul sent for me and I spent Monday morning with him. Just before I left came your telegram, Betty, saying that you and Nash were on your way here and that you would marry him. It was a frightful shock, and for hours I wandered about the countryside, keeping out of people’s way. I determined to see Paul again and tell him of my passionate love for you, Betty—” he sighed. “I must have been a bit mad—”
Betty pressed his hand. “Go on,” she begged; “don’t stop.”
“I reached here after midnight and knocked on the side door, but could not arouse Corbin,” continued Alan. “Paul and I had often entered the house in the old days when he had forgotten his doorkey, by climbing up to the veranda roof and entering a window of his room. As I reached his window, which was conveniently open, I heard the front door bell ring loudly. I judged it was Betty arriving with Doctor Nash and, pausing to take off my muddy shoes and overcoat, I left them outside on the roof, and then dropped inside the bedroom and rushed over to speak to Paul. The bed was empty.”
“Great heavens!” Miriam stared, astounded, at Alan. “Where was Mr. Abbott?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Alan. “At the time I supposed he was out in the hall, as I could hear voices. When they came closer I climbed into the empty bed, to avoid being seen, and pulled the bedclothes up over me. I couldn’t face Betty and Paul in their, what I supposed to be, hour of happiness. I was horrified when Betty and Nash came directly into the bedroom, and I suddenly realized that they took me for Paul.”
“Were you wearing a false beard?” asked Trenholm.
“No, not a false one. I had let my beard grow for the past two weeks,” explained Alan, “and shaved it off on Tuesday morning. To go back to the scene in the bedroom—the lamp had gone out, and except for the firelight the room was dark, and I prayed that Betty would leave without recognizing me. Before I could collect my senses, Doctor Nash read the marriage service—”
“And you made the responses?”
“Yes; the doctor prompted me.” Alan flushed hotly, then paled. “I think I was mad that night. My voice is like Paul’s.”
“It was your greatest point of resemblance,” commented Trenholm, “and the recollection of it finally gave me the key to the situation.”