"'Why,' cried he, 'you are not dead, for here you are!'
"'So I am,' said I; 'but I am not the Mr. Daly who died in Antigua.'
"'That's very clear,' said the old cabinet-maker; 'for, as I said before, here you are.'
"'Still,' said I, 'sir,'—I thought the sir good—'you do not understand: I am the brother—the twin brother of poor Bob Daly who lived here with you, and who has died, as I unfortunately know, deep in your debt.'
"'What!' exclaimed the upholsterer, 'you his brother! Impossible—ridiculous! Why, I should know you from a thousand by that little knob on your nose.'
"'That may be, sir,' said I; 'but I was born with a knob on my nose as well as my brother. I assure you he is in his grave at Antigua.'
"This astounded him, and he was proceeding to ring the bell in order to call up the housemaid, who had made herself particularly familiar with my knob, in order to identify me, when I pacified him by fresh assurances that he was mistaken, and that I was come to settle the account due from my late brother to himself."
"This," said I, "was all very funny, no doubt; but cui bono?"
"Nous verrons," said Daly. "The moment I talked of paying, all doubt ended; he felt convinced that it could not be me; for he was quite of opinion that at that time I had no notion of muddling away my income in paying bills. So he listened, looking all the while at my knob—you see the thing I mean, Mr. Gurney," said Daly, pointing to a pimple; "till at last I begged to see his account—he produced it—I sighed—so did he.