“I am sorry to wash dirty linen in court,” Colonel Playfair said, quietly. “These family troubles would better be settled outside of the courtroom. But it seems necessary to place the full facts before your honor. It is not only a proven fact that Clinton Webb left home involuntarily; but there was a crime attached to his adventure. He was nailed into the cabin of his boat and the boat was cut adrift at the beginning of the September gale, two years ago this coming fall.”
The spectators began to sit up and take notice. The affair was assuming a serious hue.
“The person who committed this dastardly crime is known—known to Brother Maxwell’s client. This person, afraid of being arrested for his deed, actually did run away from home, went to Buenos Ayres, there represented himself as Clinton Webb and obtained the money sent there by Mrs. Webb for her son, and is now, I understand, a member of the crew of the whaling bark, Scarboro, in the South Pacific.
“These final facts are proven by a letter from the American consul at Buenos Ayres, sent to Mr. Hounsditch, deceased, together with the amount of money which had been given to the false claimant by a clerk in the consul’s office. Does Mr. Maxwell wish me to state the name of the person who committed these criminal acts?”
My uncle’s lawyer was evidently in a fine flurry. He jumped up to say:
“We let the point pass for the present. But we claim that the minor child, Clinton Webb, has no standing in this court. He is on the high seas——”
“Wrong, Brother Maxwell,” said the colonel, very sweetly. “He is here.”
I saw Mr. Chester Downes start from his seat. He cried out something, but the Judge rapped his desk for order.
“You say your client is present in court, Colonel?” he asked.
“Clinton Webb! Come forward!” commanded my lawyer, and that time Ham did not try to keep me in my seat.