"I never heard a more insulting proposal from one man to another!" he exclaimed in a choking voice. "Do you take me for a kid you can tie to the leg of a table, that you are trying this impertinence on me? I tell you I won't stand it for a moment! I'll have a case filed against you." The older man passed his fingers through his whitening hair and shook his head in evident perplexity. "Come now, be reasonable," he began. "If these are the only terms on which you can double your allowance--and you admit that you are in need of money--don't you think you would be a wise man to close with them, now and here, and end this interview?" added Mr. Fyson, rising from his chair with an air of decision. His conciliatory tone was however misinterpreted by the younger man, who sprang from his chair with clenched hands. "You think to wheedle me, I see, but it won't do! I'll expose you, I'll put the matter into legal hands here where you are known, and I hope it will ruin you. I'll have my rights I tell you--whatever it costs me," he added, coming a step nearer and looking with threatening eyes at the tall, impassive figure. "To what matter do you refer? To what rights, pray?" asked Mr. Fyson calmly, putting his hands in his pockets. "As my father's heir I have a right to his estate. Don't you mistake, I'll be even with Messrs. Truelove Brothers yet"; and Mr. Rayner took a step towards the door. "One moment," said Mr. Fyson, taking his right hand from his pocket. "I want to repeat again that we are not your trustees, Mr.----" Here Mr. Fyson paused as if the surname had escaped his memory. "Rayner," supplied the other. "Ah, no--a better name!" murmured Mr. Fyson as he looked at the young man, and a curious smile played about his lips. "Do you mean to give me the lie when I tell you my own name? This is insupportable! Perhaps you think I'm an impostor? Yet do you not address--or cause to be addressed--all the remittances that come from this house to Alfred Rayner?" he asked, with a strong effort at calmness. "I do--though with reluctance," replied Mr. Fyson slowly. "You have driven me into a corner, young man! I feel that I owe it in loyalty to the good man who is your father to tell you that he lives still, and to tell you that the name he was induced--wrongly in my opinion--to consent to your bearing is not his"; and with a troubled air Mr. Fyson sat down again at his writing table and glanced at his papers. "You lie, you lie!" screamed Alfred Rayner with almost feminine shrillness. His passion choked him for a moment, then, with an effort at calmness, though he was still trembling all over, he called out: "Proof--I ask for proof, definite--immediate--of this astounding statement!"