For a brief space Sir Gilbert seemed lost in thought, then lifting his head and bending on Luigi from between his contracted lids a look which caused the young fellow to shrink and cower even more abjectly than before, he said: “Luigi Rispani, for that is your name, I know you at last for the vile impostor and cheat that you are. Whether you are aware of it or not, let me tell you this: you have been guilty of that which would inevitably consign you to a felon’s cell should I decide to proceed to extremities against you, and, indeed, you deserve nothing less at my hands. But what I may decide to do in the matter will depend in a great measure upon yourself. Answer the questions I am about to put to you truthfully and without prevarication, and I may be induced to deal leniently by you. Lie to me, or strive in any way to throw dust in my eyes, and the moment I discover you in the attempt I will have you given into the custody of the police and will proceed against you with the utmost rigour of the law. What say you, sir? Are you prepared to tell me the absolute and positive truth without a shadow of concealment on your part, or are you not?” “I _will_ tell you the truth, Sir Gilbert, and nothing but the truth; I really will,” whined Luigi, who was seated sideways on a chair, huddled up and with one leg crossed under him, his back arched and his head sunk between his shoulders. Every minute or two he was seized with a spasm of nervous trembling, resulting partly from fright and partly from the chill due to his long imprisonment in the strong room. “So be it,” replied Sir Gilbert grimly. “But bear this in mind, that I know more, far more than you think I do.” He paused, cleared his voice and then continued. “Luigi Rispani, you are _not_ my grandson—that I know already. But tell me this: what relation are you to Captain Verinder, and also to the widow of my late son, John Alexander Clare?” “Captain Verinder is my great-uncle. Mrs. Clare is my aunt—my father and she were brother and sister.” “How, and with whom did the fraud originate, which led to your imposing yourself on me as my grandson?” “It was all my great-uncle’s doing. It was he who originated the scheme, and it was he who persuaded my aunt and me to join him in carrying it out.” “After all, then, my instinct was not at fault,” murmured Sir Gilbert to himself. “It was not prejudice, but Nature’s own monition that bade me beware of Verinder.”