more's brother—the chap that didn't go out to China!'
Then I remembered at once where it was that I had seen him—at the broker's in the city, before we sailed for America.
'What Christian name?' I asked.
Charles reflected a moment. 'The same as the one in the note we got with the dust-coat,' he answered, at last. 'The man is Paul Finglemore!'
'You will arrest him?' I asked.
'Can I, on this evidence?'
'We might bring it home to him.' Charles mused for a moment. 'We shall have nothing against him,' he said slowly, 'except in so far as we can swear to his identity. And that may be difficult.'
Just at that moment the footman brought in tea. Charles wondered apparently whether the man, who had been with us at Seldon when Colonel Clay was David Granton, would recollect the face or recognise having seen it. 'Look here, Dudley,' he said, holding up the water-colour, 'do you know that person?'
Dudley gazed at it a moment. 'Certainly, sir,' he answered briskly.
'Who is it?' Amelia asked. We expected him to answer, 'Count von Lebenstein,' or 'Mr. Granton,' or 'Medhurst.'
Instead of that, he replied, to our utter surprise, 'That's Césarine's young man, my lady.'
'Césarine's young man?' Amelia repeated, taken
