"
"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."
"Do you doubt my identity?"
"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.
Squire Haynes beheld him with dismay.
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