Part 36 (1/2)

”There's no doubt as to who the boy is. If you've come here to give me any information on that point, your visit will have been useless. His ident.i.ty is well established.”

”Yes? Well, now I have the good-fortune to know all about that child, and if you are laboring under the impression that he is a son of Robert Burnham, you are very greatly mistaken. He is not a Burnham at all.”

Sharpman looked at the young man incredulously. ”You do not expect me to believe that?” he said. ”You certainly do not mean what you are saying?”

There was a noise in the outer room as of some one entering from the street. Sharpman did not hear it; he was too busily engaged in thinking. Rhyming Joe gave a quick glance at the room door, which stood slightly ajar, then, turning in his chair to face the lawyer, he said deliberately and with emphasis:--

”I say the boy Ralph is not Robert Burnham's son.”

For a moment Sharpman sat quietly staring at his visitor; then, in a voice which betrayed his effort to remain calm, he said:--

”What right have you to make such a statement as this? How can you prove it?”

”Well, in the first place I knew the boy's father, and he was not Robert Burnham, I a.s.sure you.”

”Who was he?”

”Simon Craft's son.”

”Then Ralph is--?”

”Old Simon's grandchild.”

”How do you happen to know all this?”

”Well, I saw the child frequently before he was taken into the country, and I saw him the night Old Simon brought him back. He was the same child. The young fellow and his wife separated, and the old man had to take the baby. I was on confidential terms with the old fellow at that time, and he told me all about it.”

”Then he probably deceived you. The evidence concerning the railroad disaster and the rescue of Robert Burnham's child from the wreck is too well established by the testimony to be upset now by such a story as yours.”

”Ah! let me explain that matter to you. The train that went through the bridge was the express. The local was twenty minutes behind it.

Old Simon and his grandchild were on the local to the bridge. An hour later they came down to the city on the train which brought the wounded pa.s.sengers. I had this that night from the old man's own lips.

I repeat to you, sir, the boy Ralph is Simon Craft's grandson, and I know it.”

In the outer room there was a slight noise as of some person drawing in his breath sharply and with pain. Neither of the men heard it.

Rhyming Joe was too intent on giving due weight to his pretended disclosure; Lawyer Sharpman was too busy studying the chances of that disclosure being true. It was evident that the young man was acquainted with his subject. If his story were false he had it too well learned to admit of successful contradiction. It was therefore of no use to argue with him, but Sharpman thought he would see what was lying back of this.

”Well,” he said, calmly, ”I don't see how this affects our case.

Suppose you can prove your story to be true; what then?”

The young man did not answer immediately. He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Sharpman. It was declined. He lighted one for himself, leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and began to study the ceiling through the rings of blue smoke which came curling from his nostrils. Finally he said: ”What would you consider my silence on this subject worth, for a period of say twenty-four hours?”

”I do not know that your silence will be of material benefit to us.”

”Well, perhaps not. My knowledge, however, may be of material injury to you.”

”In what way?”

”By the disclosure of it to your opponent.”

”What would he do with it?”