"Whose name you know?" "Whose name I know." "I am tempted to make a curious proposition to you, which if you accede to, and it turns out successful, may satisfy each of us that we may work together on behalf of one whose career has been unfortunate and unhappy." "Make your proposition, sir." "One other of Robert Grantham's schoolfellows has been referred to. We will each write down his name on separate pieces of paper, which we will exchange. If the name is the same, we can proceed with our conversation with less reserve." "I agree, sir," said Rathbeal, and wrote the name that was in his mind. John Dixon did the same, and when they exchanged papers they saw that the name they had penciled was "Fox-Cordery." "Could we exchange opinions of this gentleman on the same plan?" asked John Dixon. "I will give you mine, sir, byword of mouth. The gentleman, as you call him, is a reptile in human shape. To touch his hand in friendship is a degradation." "The terms are strong, but he has proved deserving of them. The peculiar circumstances of my connection with him would have made the expression of my opinion more temperate. You must be aware of the imperative necessity of carrying the disclosure of the existence of Robert Grantham to other ears, even though he persists in keeping himself in concealment." "No, sir, I am aware of no such necessity," said Rathbeal. "For reasons best known to himself, Mr. Fox-Cordery desired the death of Mr. Grantham. Some short time since, disturbed probably by something that had come to his ears, he paid me a visit to assure himself that Mr. Grantham was not of this world. I refused to betray the confidence reposed in me by my friend, and Mr. Fox-Cordery went away no wiser, for any information he received from me, than he came." "Are you quite honest," said John Dixon rather sternly, "in saying that you are not aware of the necessity for Mr. Grantham making his existence known to certain persons?" "Perfectly honest, sir. Mr. Grantham is alone in the world; no one has the least claim upon him, and whatever judgment you may pass upon him, he has a distinct right to do as he pleases with himself and his identity." "Have you no thought for his wife and child?" asked John Dixon. "Do you really maintain that a husband and a father has the right to assist by his own premeditated action in the lie that his wife is a widow and his child an orphan?" "I should be sorry to maintain an assumption so monstrous. We cannot assist each other by playing at cross-purposes, which is what we appear to be doing. Mr. Grantham, I repeat, is alone in the world. He has no wife and child." "He has no wife and child!" exclaimed John Dixon, in amazement.