The word came in a long gasp.
"Yes—Furlonger. That's his name. 'Smith,' indeed!"
"Father, he isn't Furlonger. Furlonger was quite different, short and dark and dirty-looking."
"I tell you this is Furlonger—and he's quite dirty-looking enough for me. Come along, Antoinette, I won't have you standing here."
"But you aren't Furlonger—are you, Mr. Smith?"
Her voice rang with entreaty and the first horror of doubt. Nigel turned his eyes to hers and tried to plead with them; but they were not understanding—he saw he had only the clumsy weapon of his tongue to fight with.
"I am Furlonger," he said in a low voice.
There was a brief, electric pause. Tony had grown very white.
"Then who was that other man?—Why did you tell me your name was Smith?"