"Not in the least. Why should he?" Erskine laughed again. "I'm afraid your memory is defective. I must introduce you again!" He walked away, laid his hand on the arm of the new-comer, and led him back to Claire's side. "Miss Gifford," he said gravely, "allow me to introduce--Major Carew!" CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. FOUND OUT. The man with the good-natured, interesting face bowed to Claire with the alacrity which the normal man shows at an introduction to a pretty girl; Claire stared blankly, recovered herself, and returned his bow in formal manner. Erskine looked from one to the other in undisguised surprise. "I thought you had met... You told me you had met Carew in town!" "Not _this_ Major Carew!" Claire could not suppress a tone of regret. With all her heart she wished that the man before her had been Cecil's fiance. "It was the same name, but--" "Not the same man? It's not an unusual name, I expect there are several of us knocking about," the present Major Carew said smilingly. "Do you happen to know his regiment?" Claire knew it well, but as she pronounced the name, the hearer's face crinkled in confusion. "But that is my own regiment! There _is_ no other Carew! There's some mistake. You have mixed up the names." "Oh no. I've heard it a hundred times. It is impossible to be mistaken. His Christian name is Frank." "_My_ name is Frank!" the strange man said, and stared at Claire in increasing perplexity. "There is certainly not another Frank Carew in the M---. There is something wrong about this. I don't understand!" "He is a member of the --- Club, and his people live in Surrey. He has an old father who is an invalid, and the name of the house is `The Moat'--" Major Carew's face turned a deep, apoplectic red, his light eyes seemed to protrude from his head, so violent was his anger and surprise. "But--that's _me_! That's my club, my father, my home! Somebody has been taking my name, and passing himself off under false colours for some mysterious reason. I can't imagine what good it is going to do him." He broke off in alarm, and cast an appealing look at Erskine as Claire suddenly collapsed on the nearest chair, her face as white as her gown. "I say, this is a bad business I'm most awfully sorry. I'm afraid Miss Gifford is distressed--" Erskine's lips were set in a fury of anger. He glanced at Claire and turned hurriedly away, as though he could not trust himself to look at her blanched face. To see the glint of his eye, the set of the firm jaw, was to realise that it would fare badly with the masquerader should he come within reach. There was a moment of tense, unhappy silence, then Erskine drew forward two more chairs, and motioned to the Major to be seated.