"Clever beasts, aren't they?" Lord Harrowby remarked. And as Captain Ponsonby took his final curtain, his lordship added: "Er--what follows the trained seals?" The answer to Harrowby's query came almost immediately, and a startling answer it proved to be. Into the glare of the footlights stepped Mr. Henry Trimmer. His manner was that of the conquering hero. For a moment he stood smiling and bowing before the approving multitude. Then he raised a hand commanding silence. "My dear friends," he said, "I appreciate this reception. As I said in my handbill of this afternoon, I am working in the interests of justice. The gentleman who accompanies me to your delightful little city is beyond any question whatsoever George Harrowby, the eldest son of the Earl of Raybrook, and as such he is entitled to call himself Lord Harrowby. I know the American people well enough to feel sure that when they realize the facts they will demand that justice be done. That is why I have prevailed upon Lord Harrowby to meet you here in this, your temple of amusement, and put his case before you. His lordship will talk to you for a time with a view to getting acquainted. He has chosen for the subject of his discourse The Old Days at Rakedale Hall. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce--the real Lord Harrowby." Out of the wings shuffled the lean and gloomy Englishman whom Mr. Trimmer had snatched from the unknown to cloud a certain wedding-day. The applause burst forth. It shook the building. From the gallery descended a shrill penetrating whistle of acclaim. Mr. Minot glanced at the face of the girl beside him. She was looking straight ahead, her cheeks bright red, her eyes flashing with anger. Beyond, the face of Harrowby loomed, frozen, terrible. "Shall we--go?" Minot whispered. "By no means," the girl answered. "We should only call attention to our presence here. I know at least fifty people in this audience. We must see it through." The applause was stilled at last and, supremely fussed, the "real Lord Harrowby" faced that friendly throng. "Dear--er--people," he said. "As Mr. Trimmer has told you, we seek only justice. I am not here to argue my right to the title I claim--that I can do at the proper time and place. I am simply proposing to go back--back into the past many years--back to the days when I was a boy at Rakedale Hall. I shall picture those days as no impostor could picture them--and when I have done I shall allow you to judge."