He thrust his hands into his breeches and stared very hard.

"You?" he said finally, with something very near a laugh.

"Sir, a gentleman's word usually suffices!" I cried.

He changed his tone a little.

"Your pardon, Mr. Carvel," he said, "but we men of business have need to
be careful. Let us sit, and I will examine your letters. Your
determination must have been suddenly taken," he added, "for I have
nothing from Mr. Carvel on the subject of your coming."

"Letters! You have heard nothing!" I gasped, and there stopped short
and clinched the table. "Has not my grandfather written of my
disappearance?"

Immediately his expression went back to the one he had met me with.
"Pardon me," he said again.

I composed myself as best I could in the face of his incredulity,
swallowing with an effort the aversion I felt to giving him my story.

"I think it strange he has not informed you," I said; "I was kidnapped
near Annapolis last Christmas-time, and put on board of a slaver, from
which I was rescued by great good fortune, and brought to Scotland. And
I have but just made my way to London."

"The thing is not likely, Mr.--, Mr.--," he said, drumming impatiently on
the board.