“So that’s your yarn, is it?” he asked me grimly, when I was done.
I stared at him in turn. To tell the truth, I was getting a little warm. His face showed nothing like good-humor and friendliness. I waited to see what it meant.
“So that’s your yarn?” he repeated. “I thought when I set eyes on you that you were a tricky fellow. But this caps all!” Why, he suddenly raised his voice and stood up, “what do you mean by coming here with such a yarn? I’ve a mind to clap you into jail!”
I stood up, too. I must confess that I felt a bit scared. It was a pretty hot day. I didn’t know but maybe the heat had overcome the fellow and he had gone crazy.
“How dare you come here with such a tale as this, you dirty beach-comber?” he demanded, shaking his fist in my face. “If Colonel Hefferan was here I don’t doubt he’d kick you out of the place. And you’d better go quick, as it is. Don’t you show your face here again——”
All the time he had been walking me backward to the door. I had been obliged to keep stepping to keep before him. But I backed up against the door and stopped. I was getting angry, and I thought I’d gone far enough.
“I don’t know what you’re driving at,” I said. “But one thing I do know. My name is Clinton Webb, I have every reason to believe that my mother has cabled me some money in Mr. Hefferan’s care, and I expect there are letters for me, too. I want the money and the letters——”
“Too late, you scoundrel!” he snarled at me, still shaking his fist. “Your game is played too late. Not that we would have believed a scoundrelly beach-comber like you——”
“You don’t believe what?” I shot in, raising my voice.
“I know you’re not Clinton Webb.”