"Gentlemen," said Terry, though his eyes never left the face of the
sheriff, and it was obvious that he was making his speech to one pair of
ears alone. "I have been living among you under the name of Colby--
Terence Colby. It seems an appropriate moment to say that this is not my
name. After what the sheriff has just told you it may be of interest to
know that my real name is Hollis. Terence Hollis is my name and my father
was Jack Hollis, commonly known as Black Jack, it seems from the story of
the sheriff. I also wish to say that I am announcing my parentage not
because I wish to apologize for it--in spite of the rather remarkable
narrative of the sheriff--but because I am proud of it."

He lifted his head while he spoke. And his eye went boldly, calmly down
the table.

"This could not have been expected before, because none of you knew my
father's name. I confess that I did not know it myself until a very short
time ago. Otherwise I should not have listened to the sheriff's story
until the end. Hereafter, however, when any of you are tempted to talk
about Black or Jack Hollis, remember that his son is alive--and in good
health!"

He hung in his place for an instant as though he were ready to hear a
reply. But the table was stunned. Then Terry turned on his heel and left
the room.

It was the signal for a general upstarting from the table, a pushing back
of chairs, a gathering around Elizabeth Cornish. She was as white as
Terry had been while he talked. But there was a gathering excitement in
her eye, and happiness. The sheriff was full of apologies. He would