'I have not. Nor, until I returned to the bosom of my family, was I aware that there was such a person in existence. Now tell me, in your turn, why are you so anxious to confound me with the gentleman in question?'
'If you never have assumed the name of Montagu Babbacombe, I beg your pardon.'
'In what dirty waters have you been paddling together? I was a pretty warm member when I was younger; I didn't expect to find you had become, with advancing years, the sort of man you apparently are. You have been attempting to do me out of my birthright; and now, as far as I understand, you are trying to do me out of my identity, too.'
He put both hands up to his head, as if it ached.
'I'm doing nothing of the kind; I only repeat that this is an age of miracles. When you meet Mr. Babbacombe--if you ever have so much good fortune'--his words had an ironical intonation which I couldn't but notice--'you'll understand the sense in which I use the words.'
'Douglas, what was there between this man and you?'
'I'll tell you. It will be at any rate a comfort to tell some one.'
He did tell me--the story with which I was even better acquainted than he was. The course of action which I should have to pursue loomed clearer and clearer as his tale proceeded. If I wished to stifle any remaining doubts which he might have, I should have to make an example of Mr. Howarth. Which I promptly proceeded to do.
I waited till he had reached the end of his pleasant little narrative, and then I let him have it. I fancy that the confession, which was good for his soul, was not received quite in the way he anticipated. In matters of this kind the world is full of disappointments. When it comes to confessing our sins, so few of us receive just the treatment we consider ourselves entitled to expect.
'Howarth, your attitude presents a curious psychological study. You tell your--I will flatter you by calling it amazing--story to me, as if you had been the sufferer. On the same line of reasoning the man who, having cut his father's throat, finds himself deserted by the wretched creature whom he has incited to assist him in his crime may pose as an injured martyr. Shall I inform you what I think? That you are a skulking thief and a cowardly scoundrel--that most pestilent type of blackguard whose one end and aim is to shift the onus of his own filthy deeds on to another's shoulders.'