"Christopher Butler asks that?" "Who? What did you say?" "Christopher Butler—yourself." Harry laughed, so great was his sense of relief. It was all a mistake, then; he had been seized by mistake for some poor wretched fellow who had lost all his money and been forced to adopt this, the last resource of impecunious spendthrifts. "Pardon me," he said. "There has been a mistake. My name is not Christopher Butler." He smiled in the attorney’s face. The little man looked staggered. "Not Christopher Butler?" "Certainly not. My name is——" Harry stopped. Some instinct of caution warned him not to disclose his real name at present. "My name is neither Butler nor Christopher," he added. "Now, pray let me go." "Sir, I have my instructions. I must make enquiries. This is unlooked for, most perplexing. Pray excuse me for one moment." He hurried from the room, leaving the door open. The surly custodian, who had followed the colloquy with evident interest, showed that he was not a bad fellow at bottom. "I’m right glad, that I am," he said. "’Twas my own thought you was too young to be such a wild dog, or else you was a most desperate wild one." Harry did not reply. Through the open door he heard loud voices proceeding from a room below. He could not catch the words, but there was something in the tone of the loudest voice that sounded familiar. He had no opportunity of forming a conclusion on the matter, for the speaker’s tone was instantly moderated, as though in response to a warning. Immediately afterwards the attorney returned, accompanied by a low-browed fellow in a lackey’s livery. The lawyer’s smile was as bland as ever as he came into the room. "’Tis not unusual for a man to change his mind, Mr. Butler, but in this case I fear ’t will be a little awkward. I am instructed that you are the Christopher Butler named in this indenture, and have to insist on your affixing your signature to it." "Nonsense!" said Harry impatiently. "I tell you my name is not Butler, and I refuse to sign the paper. ’Tis a preposterous error. I never was in debt in my life; I know nothing of Feggans; indeed, know hardly a soul in London; why, I never was in London till a month or two ago." "My dear sir, my dear sir," said the lawyer, as though expostulating with a hardened liar. Turning to the lackey, he asked: "You see this young gentleman?" "Ay, ay, I do so." Harry started. The accent was pure Wiltshire, and fell on his ears like a message from home. He scanned the man’s features, but did not recognize him. "What is his name?" went on the lawyer. "Butler; ay, ’tis Butler, sure enough." "Where did you see him last?" "In the Fleet prison, to be sure, ay, and on the common side, too." "You are sure of this?" "Ay, faith, sure enough. I seed the gentleman often at maister’s; many’s the time I called a hackney for’n in the darkest hour o’ night, thinken as them as goo fast won’t goo long."