"If you will allow me to explain!"
The big man made a gesture of refusal. But the little man caught him by the arm. "Let the liar speak," he said.
The big man, acting on his friend's advice, let the--that is, he let Hubert speak. Availing himself of the courteously offered permission, Hubert did his best to make things clear.
"I am not--as I would have told you before if you would have let me--I am not Cecil, but Hubert Buxton." The big man made another gesture. Again the little man restrained him. "We are twins. All our lives it has been difficult to tell one from the other. Of recent years, I understand, the resemblance between us has grown even greater. But the likeness is only skin deep. Cecil is the elder by, I believe, about thirty seconds. He is a rich man, and I am a poor man--bitterly poor."
The big man spoke. "And you dare to tell me that you have been making love to my sister under a false name? Very good, I have killed a man for less. But I will not kill you--not yet----Is your handwriting as much like your brother's as you are?"
"My fist is like Cecil's."
"So! Sit down." Hubert sat down. "Take that pen." He took the pen. He dipped it in the ink. "Write, 'I promise to marry----'"
"What's the good of my promising to marry anyone? Don't I tell you that I'm without a sou with which to bless myself?"
"Write, my friend, what I dictate. 'I promise to marry----'" Hubert wrote it--"'Marian Philipson Peters----'"
"And who the----something is Marian Philipson Peters?"