He began again: “The story is this. And though it’s as mad as Hatta and the King’s Messenger, it’s true. John Hoode’s mother, as you probably know, was, before marriage, a Miss Monteith. His father, as you must know also, was John Howard Beauleigh Hoode. Now, do you know that your John Hoode is very like—to look at, I mean—one of his parents and not the other?” “Yes, yes. He and his father were—well like twin brothers almost.” “Exactly. John Howard Beauleigh Hoode had a way of passing on his features. John Howard Beauleigh Hoode was married to Miss Adeline Rose Monteith in ’73. In ’72 John Howard Beauleigh Hoode’s mistress, the daughter of Ian Dougal—he was a smith in Ardenross—gave birth to a son. That son, named also John, was maintained and educated at his father’s expense; but he turned out as complete a waster as any man well could be. John Hoode—your John—didn’t know of his half-brother’s existence until John Howard Beauleigh Hoode’s death. When he did find out—from his father’s executors, I imagine—John—your John—was good to his bastard brother; and when first he saw him, he marvelled exceedingly at this bastard brother’s likeness to him, for to look at his face was almost like looking into a mirror. “The result of his kindness was the expected. Ingratitude, surliness, constant demands for money and yet more money; finally threats and blackmail——” “No, no, no!” groaned Sir Arthur, his face in his hands. “It’s all lies, lies! I knew John. He told me everything, everything!” “Not he,” Anthony said. “I’ve all the papers. Some of them here.” He tapped his breast-pocket. “Birth certificates. Copy of John Howard Beauleigh Hoode’s will, and so on. It’s all by the book. Well, things went from bad to worse and from worse to intolerable for John—your John. These threats—I’ll show you some letters later—wore his nerves, his health, to shreds. He tried every way of kindness—and failed.” Anthony paused to moisten with his tongue his parched lips. “Finally,” he went on, “John—your John—found his work for the State to be suffering. He is, as I see him, an upright, conscientious, kindly man, but determined. He made up his mind. He would help once more, but once more only. He sent for the other John. He told him when and how to come, how to approach the house, to get into this room by that window, all without being seen. “The other John came at the appointed time and knocked on the window. Your John helped him in. The other John, as always, was rotten with liquor. Your John told of the determination he had come to that this was to be the last time if the other John did not amend his ways. Then came trouble. Perhaps half-brother was more drunk than usual. Anyhow, he attacked your John. Sodden with drink though he was, he was the more powerful man. But John—your John—managed somehow to tear himself free. Not knowing what he did; he picked up the heavy poker and struck, not once, but many times——” “But what—— Good God——!”