“You will insist on forgetting my name, my dear fellow. Yes, that’s my little programme. I fancy I may as well begin at the end.”
“Look here,” pleaded the victim; “I know it’s no use appealing to your pity, for you have none; or your honesty, for you’ve less of that than I have. But doesn’t it occur to you that it would be decidedly against your interest to ruin me just now?”
“What do you mean?” said Ratman with a yawn.
“Why, you claim a certain name, and you have to prove your claim. Roger has got the romantic notion into his head that if his elder brother can be found, that brother shall have the property. He is more than half inclined to credit your story already. You have to satisfy two other persons, of whom I am one. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” said Mr Ratman, who began to be interested. “I anticipate no difficulty there.”
“You forget that at present only a sickly boy stands between myself and the property. It would surely mean something on my part for me to admit a second life between.”
“What is the use of talking nonsense?” said Ratman. “Even if you did, for the sake of a little longer credit I might give you, own my right to my own name, what’s the use of that, when this man Armstrong has to be satisfied too? If you could crack that nut there might be something in it.”
The captain groaned. He knew that every project would be pulled up short at this sticking-point.
“Come,” said Ratman encouragingly, “if you could work things in that direction, it might be worth my while to give you time.”
“I can do nothing. The fellow is immovable. In six months—”