“What, do you insist that you are speaking the truth?”
“Certainly,” was the haughty reply. “I repeat it. I am Osmund Maiden!”
“And this is your trunk?”
“I have told you it was.”
“Bless my soul, I never knew the equal of this!” exclaimed Macdonald. “But you can’t expect us to accept such a statement without clear proof.”
“Yes, he must prove it!” Christopher Burley cried hoarsely. “His word is not sufficient; I fear the captain trifles with us. I demand the proofs—quick!”
“They are easily produced,” said Captain Rudstone.
We watched him expectantly as he thrust a hand into an inner pocket of his coat, I with a growing conviction that the right man was found, while on Flora’s face was an expression of aversion and mistrust. He drew out a yellow slip of paper and gave it to the factor.
“I claim my property, sir,” he said curtly.
“The receipt!” cried Macdonald, after a hasty glance. “‘April the 19th, 1788; trunk No. 409’!”