“We have not,” Prescott said, frankly, “and it is precisely for that reason that I come to you. Of course you have got all these proofs, and I want you to furnish them to us.” “And how much do you propose to give for them?” Barton asked cautiously. “I have waited for twenty years, and I won’t give up the game for a trifle.” “Captain Bradshaw is so angry at the manner in which you have deceived him that he will not give one farthing.” “And do you think that, if I have those proofs,” Barton sneered, “I am going to give them up for nothing? Do you take me for an idiot?” “Not at all,” Prescott answered unmoved. “I have already said that I take you to be a clever man, although things have hardly turned out as you expected. I will tell you what my advice to Captain Bradshaw will be. I shall recommend him to publish a statement of the case, under the head of ‘Extraordinary recovery of a missing Heir,’ in every newspaper in England, relating the whole particulars. I don’t think your business would be worth much after that.” “I don’t care,” the man said doggedly; “you won’t frighten me that way. I am going to retire. I shall shut my office up next week for good.” “Going to retire to enjoy your honest savings, Mr. Barton?” Prescott said cheerfully; “then we must go to work in another way. We know the marriage took place in or near London, so that an offer of fifty pounds reward will very soon produce that certificate. As to the birth of the child, it is more difficult. Let me see,” he said thoughtfully, narrowly watching the face of the man, who was sitting in sulky silence opposite to him; “she was very poor, very. Her husband died, I fancy, before the child was born, so she was likely to have been confined in a workhouse. Yes,” he said, seeing a slight change in the man’s face, “certainly in a workhouse, and as we know the date to within a month we shall have no difficulty about that part of the business.” “You may do what you please,” Barton said, bringing his clenched hand down upon the table with a fierce execration; “you may do what you please, but you can never prove the connection beyond the personal ornaments, and they are no proof at all.” “No legal proof in themselves,” Prescott said quietly, “but strong corroborative proof, which coupled with connection of dates and ages, the personal appearance of the lady, and other points, would make a strong case—a very strong case. Well, as you won’t help us, we must do our best. So you are thinking of retiring from business, Mr. Barton?” “Yes, I am,” growled the man sulkily; “and now I will trouble you to walk out.” “A snug little place at Putney or Hampstead, eh, Mr. Barton?” “I don’t want any chaff,” the man said, rising; “you had better move, and before I make you.”