Sturgis sat down, pulled up the knees of his trousers that
half-inch which keeps them from bagging and so preserves the
gentlemanliness of the appearance, and glanced keenly at Mrs.
Pett.
"Who was that young man who just went out?"
"It is about him that I wished to consult you, Mr. Sturgis."
Mr. Sturgis leaned back, and placed the tips of his fingers
together.
"Tell me how he comes to be here."
"He pretends that he is my nephew, James Crocker."
"Your nephew? Have you never seen your nephew?"
"Never. I ought to tell you, that a few years ago my sister
married for the second time. I disapproved of the marriage, and
refused to see her husband or his son--he was a widower. A few
weeks ago, for private reasons, I went over to England, where
they are living, and asked my sister to let the boy come here to
work in my husband's office. She refused, and my husband and I
returned to New York. This morning I was astonished to get a
telephone call from Mr. Pett from his office, to say that James
Crocker had unexpectedly arrived after all, and was then at the
office. They came up here, and the young man seemed quite
genuine. Indeed, he had an offensive jocularity which would be
quite in keeping with the character of the real James Crocker,
from what I have heard of him."
Mr. Sturgis nodded.
"Know what you mean. Saw that thing in the paper," he said
briefly. "Yes?"
"Now, it is very curious, but almost from the start I was uneasy.
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