fifty reasons for his coming had flashed across his mind; he had
prepared himself at many corners for defence, he had rallied every
mental resource, he had imagined a dozen dangerous events which his
father and Luke Claridge shared--with the balance against his father;
but this thing was beyond all speculation. Yet on the instant the words
were said he had a conviction of their inevitable truth. Even as they
were uttered, kaleidoscopic memories rushed in, and David's face,
figure, personal characteristics, flashed before him. He saw, he felt,
the likeness to his father and himself; a thousand things were explained
that could only be explained by this fatal fact launched at him without
warning. It was as though, fully armed for his battle of life, he had
suddenly been stripped of armour and every weapon, and left naked on
the field. But he had the mind of the gamester, and the true gamester's
self-control. He had taken chances so often that the tornado of ill-luck
left him standing.

"What proof have you?" he asked quietly. Soolsby's explicit answer left
no ground for doubt. He had not asked the question with any idea of
finding gaps in the evidence, but rather to find if there were a chance
for resistance, of escape, anywhere. The marriage certificate existed;
identification of James Fetherdon with his father could be established
by Soolsby and Luke Claridge.

Soolsby and Luke Claridge! Luke Claridge--he could not help but smile
cynically, for he was composed and calculating now. A few minutes ago
he had sent a jar of oxygen to keep Luke Claridge alive! But for it one
enemy to his career, to his future, would be gone. He did not shrink
from the thought. Born a gentleman, there were in him some degenerate
characteristics which heart could not drown or temperament refine.
Selfishness was inwoven with every fibre of his nature.

Now, as he stood with eyes fixed on Soolsby, the world seemed to narrow
down to this laboratory. It was a vacuum where sensation was suspended,
and the million facts of ordinary existence disappeared into inactivity.
There was a fine sense of proportion in it all. Only the bare essential
things that concerned him remained: David Claridge was the Earl of
Eglington, this man before him knew, Luke Claridge knew; and there was
one thing yet to know! When he spoke his voice showed no excitement--the
tones were even, colourless.

"Does he know?" In these words he acknowledged that he believed the ta