"What," ejaculated the doorkeeper, "do you mean that Mathias is not
Mathias?"

"I mean that my son has been taken for Mathias, to whom, indeed, he is
so like that nothing but the capture of the real culprit can save my
son."

The doorkeeper eyed the cripple sharply.

But the latter stood it coolly enough.

"Well," said the door porter, "if that is the case, it is certainly a
very hard job for your son. What do you want me to do for him? I can't
let him out."

"My friend," exclaimed the cripple, "think you I would suggest such a
thing? No, all I would ask of you is to soothe him with a kind word."

"I'll tell him when next he comes out."

"At what time did you say?" asked the cripple, looking on the ground as
though he only put the question casually.

"At twelve."

The cripple's eyes glistened as he heard this.

"Well, well," he said, pressing some more money into the door porter's
hand, "I'll call again, and perhaps you may have seen my boy, and