CHAPTER II
A QUESTION OF IDENTITY
AS he gazed down at the bent figure of the old man, whose shoulders were heaving convul- sively, Smith realised, from the slight swaying of his body, that he was on the verge of collapse.
"Oh, Mr. Alfred!" he murmured, as Smith placed a steadying arm across his shoulders. "How we've all prayed for this day," and the tears coursed un- checked down his cheeks.
Through Smith's mind flooded a medley of impres- sions. He was torn between a desire to laugh and a feeling that he wanted a glass of water with which to wash down the lump in his throat. He was acutely conscious of his torn trouser-leg, which he was unable to cover up until the butler, he was obviously the butler, began to manifest signs of stiffening into a more rigid position, after which Smith decided to take cover be- hind a chair.
The whole affair brought back to his mind a scene from "The Silver King," which he had seen as a boy.
"Please let him sit down."
The girl had descended the stairs, and now stood regarding the butler with anxious eyes. Smith turned to find himself gazing into a pair of large violet eyes, grave and steady; but capable, he felt, of breaking into mischievous light.
He moved closer to the butler, that the dilapidation of his clothing might be less obvious.
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