FullReads

“Who was it?”

“Only Voules. He brought a letter for you. They’re all at breakfast still. The sleuth’s eating kippers.”

“That’ll hold him for a bit. Full of bones.” He began to read his letter. He gave a kind of grunt of surprise at the first paragraph.

“Well, I’m hanged!” he said, as he finished.

“Reggie, this is a queer thing.”

“What’s that?”

He handed me the letter, and directly I started in on it I saw why he had grunted. This is how it ran:

“My dear George–I shall be seeing you to-morrow, I hope; but I think it is better, before we meet, to prepare you for a curious situation that has arisen in connection with the legacy which your father inherited from your Aunt Emily, and which you are expecting me, as trustee, to hand over to you, now that you have reached your twenty-fifth birthday. You have doubtless heard your father speak of your twin-brother Alfred, who was lost or kidnapped–which, was never ascertained–when you were both babies. When no news was received of him for so many years, it was supposed that he was dead. Yesterday, however, I received a letter purporting that he had been living all this time in Buenos Ayres as the adopted son of a wealthy South American, and has only recently discovered his identity. He states that he is on his way to meet me, and will arrive any day now. Of course, like other claimants, he may prove to be an impostor, but meanwhile his intervention will, I fear, cause a certain delay before I can hand over your money to you. It will be necessary to go into a thorough examination of credentials, etc., and this will take some time. But I will go fully into the matter with you when we meet.–Your affectionate uncle,

“AUGUSTUS ARBUTT.”

I read it through twice, and the second time I had one of those ideas I do sometimes get, though admittedly a chump of the premier class. I have seldom had such a thoroughly corking brain-wave.

“Why, old top,” I said, “this lets you out.”

“Lets me out of half the darned money, if that’s what you mean. If this chap’s not an imposter–and there’s no earthly reason to suppose he is, though I’ve never heard my father say a word about him–we shall have to split the money. Aunt Emily’s will left the money to my father, or, failing him, his ‘offspring.’ I thought that meant me, but apparently there are a crowd of us. I call it rotten work, springing unexpected offspring on a fellow at the eleventh hour like this.”

“Why, you chump,” I said, “it’s going to save you. This lets you out of your spectacular dash across the frontier. All you’ve got to do is to stay here and be your brother Alfred. It came to me in a flash.”

He looked at me in a kind of dazed way.

“You ought to be in some sort of a home, Reggie.”

“Ass!” I cried. “Don’t you understand? Have you ever heard of twin-brothers who weren’t exactly alike? Who’s to say you aren’t Alfred if you swear you are? Your uncle will be there to back you up that you have a brother Alfred.”

“And Alfred will be there to call me a liar.”

“He won’t. It’s not as if you had to keep it up for the rest of your life. It’s only for an hour or two, till we can get this detective off the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning.”

At last the thing seemed to sink into him. His face brightened.

“Why, I really do believe it would work,” he said.

“Of course it would work. If they want proof, show them your mole. I’ll swear George hadn’t one.”

“And as Alfred I should get a chance of talking to Stella and making things all right for George. Reggie, old top, you’re a genius.”

“No, no.”

“You are.”

“Well, it’s only sometimes. I can’t keep it up.”