"Son," sez I, "I'm a store-house o' knowledge, an' I'm about to open the flood-gates an' pour it forth. How many Alice LeMoynes did you ever happen to hear of?"
"Only but the one," sez Bill. "It was a fake name probably, an' one was all they ever struck off that die. What about her?"
"Oh, nothin' much," sez I, "only a stray Englishman happened to pull that name on us a while back, an' I wondered where he came into possession of it."
"You got somethin' up your sleeve," sez Bill, who was a mite too observin' at times; "what is it you want to know?"
"Nothin' at all," sez I; "I know all I want to now."
"What kind of lookin' feller was it?" sez Bill.
"Purty harmless," sez I; "watery blue eyes, fair size, purty good lookin', nice manners, book-talker, owns a little ranch; oh, he won't set no important rivers on fire."
Bill studied awhile. "How old was he?" sez he.
"Why, he's about my age, in years," sez I.
"It might be Richard—if Lord James is still alive, Richard is the heir apparent," sez Bill. "How long have you known o' this feller?"