'Out of----? My dear Douglas, aren't you well? Is that the explanation of your laggard step?' 'You are Babbacombe!' I shrugged my shoulders. 'So that bee's in your bonnet. Very well, I am Babbacombe. I've been told it before; but no one has told me who Babbacombe is.' 'Don't--don't play any more tricks with me. Can't you see I've been nearly driven mad? Tell me; aren't you that--that devil?' 'Douglas, I have learned, to my pain, that you have lately not cut a very pretty figure. I am willing to excuse you on the charitable supposition that, as you say, you have been nearly driven mad. But do not let your madness go too far. Show some method in it, Douglas. Is it money you're in want of? If so, I've plenty, and am quite content that there should be some of it for you. What's the figure, man.' 'The figure?' He looked as if his wits were wool-gathering. Going to a sideboard I poured out some brandy into a glass. 'Come, Douglas, swallow this. A pick-me-up may do you good. It strikes me that you ought to be in bed rather than abroad.' He took the glass of brandy with a hand which trembled. 'It's a day of miracles.' 'Have you only just found that out? Surely you and I have reached an age at which we ought to know that wherever we turn, a miracle stares us in the face. What's the matter with you, my dear old chap?' 'Are you--are you Babbacombe?' 'My dear Douglas, I'm any one you please. Come, drink your brandy.' He took a sip; then put the glass on the table? 'Now tell me, what's the trouble? Is it money? If so, consider that I'm your banker and draw on me.' Although I fancy that the sip he had taken had done him good, it still was sufficiently clear that the situation was beyond his comprehension; at which, on the whole, I wasn't surprised. 'Either, Leonard, you're a very remarkable actor, or you're a very remarkable man.' 'If you like we'll grant both hypotheses. And now may I ask you what you mean?' 'Should you desire it, I am quite willing to ignore the fact that I ever knew you as--anybody else, but I shouldn't like you to suppose that I'm an utter fool.' 'Howarth, you oblige me to adopt a tone with you for which I have no relish. Your words and manner convey an insinuation which I must ask you to explain. What am I to understand by what you have just now said?' 'Tell me, honestly. Have you not been masquerading as Montagu Babbacombe?' 'I have not. Nor, until I returned to the bosom of my family, was I aware that there was such a person in existence. Now tell me, in your turn, why are you so anxious to confound me with the gentleman in question?' 'If you never have assumed the name of Montagu Babbacombe, I beg your pardon.'