“I don't understand you, sir,” said the squire.
“Perhaps I can assist you. You know me as Henry Morton. That is not my real name.”
“An alias!” sneered the squire in a significant tone.
“Yes, I had my reasons,” returned the young man, unmoved.
Henry Morton smiled, but did not otherwise notice the unpleasant imputation.
Squire Haynes started violently and scrutinized the young man closely through his spectacles. His vague suspicions were confirmed.
“Do you wish to know my business with you?”
“I demand the restitution of the large sum of money entrusted to you by my father, just before his departure to the West Indies--a sum of which you have been the wrongful possessor for twelve years.”
“Do you mean to insult me?” exclaimed the squire, bold in the assurance that the sole evidence of his fraud was undiscovered.
“Unless you comply with my demand I shall proceed against you legally, and you are enough of a lawyer to understand the punishment meted out to that description of felony.”
“Pooh, pooh! Your threats won't avail you,” said the squire contemptuously. “Your plan is a very clumsy one. Let me suggest to you, young man, that threats for the purpose of extorting money are actionable.”
“You may very probably be the person you claim to be, but that won't save you.”
“Very well. You have conceded one point.”
He walked quietly to the door of the adjoining room, opened it, and in a distinct voice called “James Travers.”
At the sound of this name Squire Haynes sank into a chair, ashy pale.
A man, not over forty, but with seamed face, hair nearly white, and a form evidently broken with ill health, slowly entered.
“You see before you, Squire Haynes, a man whose silence has been your safeguard for the last twelve years. His lips are now unsealed. James Travers, tell us what you know of the trust reposed in this man by my father.”
“No, no,” said the squire hurriedly. “It--it is enough. I will make restitution.”
“You have done wisely,” said Richard Waring. (We must give him his true name.) “When will you be ready to meet me upon this business?”
He left the house with the air of one who has been crushed by a sudden blow.
The pride of the haughty had been laid low, and retribution, long deferred, had come at last.