'Your head isn't so much on the slant as some might perhaps be thinking. Together we'll be a match for a world in arms. You see, it's this way. There are persons who are foolish enough to think that I'm myself. Between us we might manage to convince them that I'm not. You slip round to Twickenham House. Then sometime to-morrow I'll appear as the injured Merrett--red-hot with an indignant desire to know who has had the cheek and impudence, peer or no peer, to get himself mistaken for me. I shall see you; perceive, with amazement--kept within judicious bounds--how like you are to me. Then I shall understand how the mistake's arisen, and my indignation will tone down. We'll have a little talk together. I may be of assistance to you--in other ways. One never knows.' Mr. Merrett winked. His lordship smiled. CHAPTER XXXI AN INTERIOR Mr. Merrett gently opened the door, then stood listening, the handle in his hand. The sound of voices reached his ear. He stepped into the passage. The door of the room upon his left was open; he peeped through. A woman was sitting at a table with a pile of photographs in front of her. Two children were standing at her knee; a boy and girl. They regarded the photograph on which the woman's eyes were fixed. 'Shall I be like father when I grow up?' inquired the boy. 'I hope you will; as like him as you can. O Jimmy, I would be proud if you were like your father.' 'Will I be like him too?' This was the little girl. The boy derided her. 'Girls aren't never like their fathers--never!' The woman, stopping, put her arm about the young person's neck, and said: 'You be your mother, Pollie; and love him with all your heart and soul. Father'll like that just as well.' 'Father'll like it better!' observed Mr. Merrett, standing at the door. Mother and children started. They turned to see who it was had spoken. The woman, dropping the photograph she held, ran towards the door, uttering an exclamation that was like a long-drawn sigh. 'James!' She threw her arms about his neck, he put his about her waist, and they were still--until the children claimed their share of notice. 'To think that you should come home to-day!'