"Certainly not," I replied indignantly. "Have you seen her?"
"Not yet; I preferred coming to an understanding with you first."
"A condition you may not find as easy as you anticipate," I retorted, angered at his cool insolence. "If you are Philip Henley, then the lady you are holding prisoner is your wife."
He laughed, leaning back again in his chair.
"Well, hardly. I rather surmised that was the idea from a sentence or two, in these instructions," and he touched a bundle of papers on the desk. "Careless way to carry such evidence around—shows the amateur. Thought it would add to the appeal to justice for Henley to have a wife, I presume. Why not a child also? Permit me to state, my dear sir, that I possess no such encumbrance."
"It happens," I contended coldly, "that I have seen the marriage certificate."
He sat up stiffly, the sarcastic grin leaving his face, and replaced by an expression of vindictiveness.
"Oh, you have! As much a forgery as some of these other precious documents. You will certainly grant that I ought to know whether I am married or not?"
"I made no assertion relative to that."
"What did you assert?"