That is not my real name." "An alias!" sneered the squire in a significant tone.
"Yes, I had my reasons," returned the young man, unmoved.
"I have no doubt of it." Henry Morton smiled, but did not otherwise notice the unpleasant imputation.
"My real name is Richard Waring." Squire Haynes started violently and scrutinized the young man closely through his spectacles.

His vague suspicions were confirmed.
"Do you wish to know my business with you ?" The squire muttered something inaudible.
"I demand the restitution of the large sum of money entrusted to you by my father, just before his departure to the West Indies--a sum of which you have been the wrongful possessor for twelve years." "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.
"You see before you, Squire Haynes, a man whose silence has been your safeguard for the last twelve years.