“Oh, I’ll admit, for the sake of argument, that you may have enough against the aforesaid James Duryea to send him up for the rest of his life; but—you know the old receipt for roasting a hare, don’t you?”
“Well?”
“First catch your hare, Carter. In this case, first catch the man—or shall I say the ghost?”
“Say what you please; it does not alter the circumstance.”
“Doesn’t it? You would find that it did. Admitting that the ghost of Jimmy Duryea is now standing before you, you have already agreed that a ghost was never caught. Do you suppose—you who claim to know me—that I would be fool enough, if I were the man you believe me to be, to stand here and defy you unless I knew exactly what I was doing?”
“You’ve got cheek enough to do almost anything, Jimmy.”
“Yes, and I have got brains enough to have prepared for all the emergencies that might arise, too. I asked you a moment ago if you realized what would happen if you should clap those irons onto me and take me away. You haven’t replied to that question, yet.”
“You answer it, then.”
“You would make a charge against me—as James Duryea. I would establish the fact that I am not James Duryea. All the pictures in the world, no matter whether they are in a rogues’ gallery or not, would have any effect upon the proof that I would be able to offer. I have a long line of ancestry to fall back upon. Ledger Dinwiddie is a personality, widely known in a certain locality where his home is—now. Jimmy Duryea is dead, and buried, and his bones can be dug up, if necessary. Nick Carter, the great detective, would make himself the laughingstock of the whole country.”
“Nick Carter isn’t a bit afraid of doing that, Jimmy.”