"I don't think so. There was a forged letter purporting to be written by me. I am going to Scotland Yard to-morrow, stating frankly who I am, and urging them to exhume the body. We will find out who the man, buried under the name of Reginald Davis, really was."
And then the agitation of his younger sister became extreme. She clutched convulsively at his arm.
"Reggie, you will not do this. What does it matter to you who the man was? Go under some other name, and let sleeping dogs lie." Unconsciously she had used the same expression as Mrs. Masters, but from different motives.
"I have been under a different name for a longer time than I care to remember," answered Davis doggedly. "I have a fancy to resume my own, and make a clean breast of it to the police. They have nothing else to charge me with."
Iris fell on her knees, and the tears rained down her cheeks.
"For my sake, Reggie, if not for your own."
"And why for your sake? Tell us what you mean," demanded her brother sternly.
And Iris spoke as clearly as she could speak amidst her strangled sobs.
"If you try and unearth that mystery at Cathcart Square, I might be dragged in, and it might be very awkward for me."