'Mary, what does the fellow mean?'
She said something which was audible to him alone, When she had finished, Mr. Merrett, lifting the children from off his knees, rose to his feet.
'Mary, when I was here last you spoke of somebody who you seemed to think had been masquerading as me. Fitz, your remarks apparently point in the same direction. What does this person call himself?'
'He calls himself the Marquis of Twickenham--when he's not James Merrett.'
'Is that meant to be funny? Because, if so, take my advice, and don't try to be humorous in a wrong key. Where does he live?'
'His address is Twickenham House, St. James's Square--when it's not Little Olive Street.'
'More humour? Pretty soon I'll give you leave to get in all the laughter you have handy. You come right away along with yours truly, and we'll interview the gentleman who's pretending to be me.'
'He's not pretending to be you; he's pretending that he isn't you.'
'That so? We'll investigate his pretensions anyhow. You just come right along.'
Mr. FitzHoward stared.