“You recognized him?”
“Yes.”
“Your son?”
“David Margate—yes.”
“Did you see him personally, or do anything about it?”
“Neither,” said Mrs. Clayton sadly. “What could I do? The die was cast. My husband had shaped the boy’s life. That he should become a criminal after arriving at the age of judgment and discretion showed only too plainly that he had inherited Gideon Margate’s criminal traits.”
“I agree with you,” said Nick.
“Thank God!” Mrs. Clayton fervently added; “he left me the child who had inherited my own character. Chester Clayton is above knavery and crime.”
“I agree with you again,” said Nick. “Now, Mrs. Clayton, let’s come to the points bearing upon his case. Does Chester know anything about his father and twin brother?”
“No, no, indeed,” she said quickly. “He knows only that his father is dead. He does not so much as dream that he has a brother. I could not cloud his life, mar his whole future, perhaps, by acknowledging David Margate to be my son, when I learned that he was in an English prison. It would, have been an injustice to Chester Clayton. The sacrifice would have been too great.”