“There isn’t any uncle,” he said. “There isn’t any Alfred. And there isn’t any money.”
“Explain yourself, old top,” I said.
“It won’t take long. The old crook has spent every penny of the trust money. He’s been at it for years, ever since I was a kid. When the time came to cough up, and I was due to see that he did it, he went to the tables in the hope of a run of luck, and lost the last remnant of the stuff. He had to find a way of holding me for a while and postponing the squaring of accounts while he got away, and he invented this twin-brother business. He knew I should find out sooner or later, but meanwhile he would be able to get off to South America, which he has done. He’s on his way now.”
“You let him go?”
“What could I do? I can’t afford to make a fuss with that man Sturgis around. I can’t prove there’s no Alfred when my only chance of avoiding prison is to be Alfred.”
“Well, you’ve made things right for yourself with Stella Vanderley, anyway,” I said, to cheer him up.
“What’s the good of that now? I’ve hardly any money and no prospects. How can I marry her?”
I pondered.
“It looks to me, old top,” I said at last, “as if things were in a bit of a mess.”
“You’ve guessed it,” said poor old George.