Garrison's dream crumbled to ashes.

"Oh!" he said blankly, "you--you mean to palm me off as the nephew?"

"Exactly, my son, the long-lost nephew. You are fitted for the role.
They haven't ever seen the original, and then, by chance, you have a
birthmark, shaped like a spur, beneath your right collar-bone. Oh, yes,
I marked it while you were bathing. I've hunted the baths in the chance
of finding a duplicate, for I could not afford to run the risks of
advertising.

"It seems this nephew has a similar mark, his mother having mentioned
it once in a letter to her brother, and it is the only means of
identification. Luck is with us, Mr. Good, and of course you will
take full advantage of it. As a side bonus you can pay me twenty-five
thousand or so when you come into the estate on your uncle's death."

The eminent lawyer, his calculating eye still on Garrison, then
proceeded with much forensic ability and virile imagination to lay the
full beauties of the "cinch" before him.

"But supposing the real nephew shows up?" asked Garrison hesitatingly,
after half an hour's discussion.

"Impossible. I am fully convinced he's dead. Possession is nine points
of the law, my son. If he should happen to turn up, which he won't, why,
you have only to brand him as a fraud. I'm a kind-hearted man, and I
merely wish Major Calvert to have the pleasure of killing fatted calf
for one instead of a burial. I'm sure the real nephew is dead. Anyway,
the search will be given up when you are found."