“Possibly.  But it’s one which strikes hard on your conscience, for all that.  This is evident enough even to a stranger like myself.  I am convinced that if you had not come into her life she would have been at my side to-day.  Now, who are you?  She told me you were a relative.”

“She told you the truth; I am.  Her nearest relative.  The story in the paper has a certain amount of truth in it.  Her brother, not her sister, has come back from the grave.  I am that brother.  She was once devoted to me.”

“You are—­”

“Yes.  Oh, there’ll be no difficulty in my proving this relationship.  I have evidence upon evidence of the fact right in this room with me; evidence much more convincing and far less disputable than this surprising twin can bring forward if her identity is questioned.  Georgian had a twin sister, but she was buried years ago.  I was never buried.  I simply did not return from a well-known and dangerous voyage.  The struggle I had for life—­you cannot want the details now—­has left its indelible impress in the scar which has turned me from a personable man into what some people might call a monstrosity.  And it is this scar which has kept me so long from home and country.  It has taken me four years to make up my mind to face again my family and friends.  And now that I have, I find that it would have been better for us all if I had stayed away.  Georgian saw me and her mind wavered.  In no other way can I account for her wild behavior since that hour.  That is all I have to say, sir.  I think I am almost as much an object of pity as yourself.”

And for a moment he appeared to be so, not only to Gerridge, but to Mr. Ransom himself.  Then something in the man—­his unnatural coldness, the purpose which made itself felt through all his self-restraint—­reawakened Mr. Ransom’s distrust and led him to say: 

“Your complaint is natural.  If you are Mrs. Ransom’s brother, there should be sympathy between us and not antagonism.  But I feel only antagonism.  Why is this?”

A shrug, followed by an odd smile.

“You should be able to account for that on very reasonable grounds,” said he.  “I do not expect much mercy from strangers.  It is hard to make your good intentions felt through such a distorted medium as my expression has now become.”

“Mrs. Ransom has been here,” Ransom suddenly launched forth.  “Within two hours of your encounter under Mr. Fulton’s roof, she was talking with you in this hotel.  I have proof positive of that, sir.”

“I have no wish to deny the fact,” was the steady answer.  “She did come here and we had a talk; it was necessary; I wanted money.”

The last phrase was uttered with such grim determination that the exclamation which had risen to Mr. Ransom’s lips died in a conflict of feeling which forbade any rejoinder that savored of sarcasm.  Hazen, however, must have noted his first look, for he added with an air of haughty apology: