Questions which at once suggested
themselves to the minds of all concerned, but which admitted of no easy
solution. I could find no reply to them. Captain Prendergast had not
even a suggestion to offer. Jonathan Jelf, who seized the first
opportunity of drawing me aside and learning all that I had to tell,
was more amazed and bewildered than either of us. He came to my room
that night, when all the guests were gone, and we talked the thing over
from every point of view; without, it must be confessed, arriving at
any kind of conclusion.
"I do not ask you," he said, "whether you can have mistaken your man.
That is impossible."
"As impossible as that I should mistake some stranger for yourself."
"It is not a question of looks or voice, but of facts. That he should
have alluded to the fire in the blue room is proof enough of John
Dwerrihouse's identity. How did he look?"
"Older, I thought. Considerably older, paler, and more anxious."
"He has had enough to make him look anxious, anyhow," said my friend,
gloomily; "be he innocent or guilty.
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