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Garrison said: "Indeed?"
He advanced to a chair and sat down.
"In the first place, perhaps you will tell us your actual name," said old Robinson, himself taking a seat.
Garrison was annoyed.
"Let me a.s.sure you, once for all, that I do not in the least recognize your right to meddle in my concerns, or subject me to any inquisitions."
"That's another way of saying you refuse to answer!" snapped Robinson tartly. "You know your name isn't Fairfax, any more than it's mine.
Your name is Garrison."
Garrison stared at him coldly.
"You seem to have made up your mind very decidedly," he said. "Is that all you have to say?"
"You don't deny it?" cried the old man, exasperated by his calmness.
"You don't dare deny it!"
Garrison grew calmer.
"I haven't the slightest reason to deny anything," he said. "I frequently require a pseudonym. Dorothy knows that I employ the name Garrison whenever occasion demands."
The old man was wild.
"Will you swear that your right name is Fairfax?" he said. "That's what I demand to know!"
Garrison answered: "I came here to see my wife. I warn you I am growing impatient with your hidden insinuations!"
"Your wife!" cried old Robinson, making a dive into one of his pockets with his hand. "What have you to say to this letter, from the woman who is doubtless by now your _legal_ wife?" Suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hing a letter from his coat, he projected himself toward Garrison and held up the missive before him.
It was the letter from Ailsa--the one that Garrison had missed--the letter in which she had agreed to become his wife. He put forth his hand to receive it.
"No, you don't!" cried the old man, s.n.a.t.c.hing it out of his reach.
"I'll keep this, if you please, to show my niece."
Garrison's eyes glittered.
"So, it was _your_ hired thief who stole it, up at Branchville?" he said. "I don't suppose he showed you the skin that he left behind from his fingers."
"That's got nothing to do with the point!" the old man cried at him triumphantly. "I don't believe you are married to my niece. If you think you can play your game on me----"
Garrison interrupted.
"The theft of that letter was a burglary in which you are involved.
You are laying up trouble for yourself very rapidly. Give that letter to me!"
"Give it up, hey? We'll see!" said Robinson. "Take it to court if you dare! I'm willing. This letter shows that another woman accepted you, and _that's_ the point you don't dare face in the law!"
Whatever else he discerned in the case. Garrison did not understand in the least how Dorothy could have summoned him back here for this.
"That letter is an old one," he replied to Robinson calmly. "Look at the date. It's a bit of ancient history, long since altered."
"There is no date!" the old man shrilled in glee; and he was right.
Garrison's reply was never uttered. The door behind him abruptly opened, and there stood Dorothy, radiant with color and beauty.
"Why, Jerold!" she cried. "Why, when did you come? I didn't even know you were in town."
She ran to him ardently, as she had before, with her perfect art, and kissed him with wifely affection.
CHAPTER XI
THE SHOCK OF TRUTH
For one second only Garrison was a trifle confused. Then he gave her the roses he had brought.
She carried them quickly to the table, hiding her face in their fragrant petals.
"Just a moment, Dorothy," said Garrison. "You didn't know I'd come to town? You wired----" He halted and looked at the Robinsons. "Oh," he added, "I think I begin to see."
Dorothy felt something in the air.
"What is it, Jerold?" she said. "I haven't wired. What do you mean?"
Garrison faced the Robinsons.
"I mean that these two _gentlemen_ telegraphed me at Branchville to come here at once--and signed your name to the wire."
"Telegraphed you? In my name?" repeated Dorothy. "I don't believe I understand."
"We may as well understand things first as last," said her uncle. "I don't believe this man is your husband! I don't believe his name is Fairfax! He was registered as Garrison. Furthermore----"
Garrison interrupted, addressing Dorothy:
"They think they have discovered something important or vital in the fact that I sometimes use the name Garrison. And they have managed to steal an old letter----"
"I'll tell about the letter, if you please!" cried old Robinson shrilly. He turned to Dorothy, who was very white. "There you are!"
he said, waving the letter before her face. "There's the letter from his sweetheart--the woman he asked to become his wife! Here's her acceptance, and her protestations of love. She is doubtless his wife at this moment! Read it for yourself!"
He thrust it into Dorothy's hand with aggressive insistence.
Dorothy received it obediently. She hardly knew what she should say or do to confute the old man's statements, or quiet his dangerous suspicions. His arrival at the truth concerning herself and Garrison had disconcerted her utterly.
Garrison did not attempt to take the letter, but he addressed her promptly: