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"It's my uncle," said George. A stout man came up the gangway. "Halloa, George!" he said. "Get my letter?" "I think you are mistaking me for my brother," said George. "My name is Alfred Lattaker." "What's that?" "I am George's brother Alfred. Are you my Uncle Augustus?" The stout man stared at him. "You're very like George," he said. "So everyone tells me." "And you're really Alfred?" "I am."
He looked round the group, and fixed on old Marshall as the probable owner of the yacht. "Good morning," he said. "I believe you have a Mr. Lattaker on board Mr. George Lattaker?" "Yes," said Marshall. "He's down below. Want to see him? Whom shall I say?" "He would not know my name. I should like to see him for a moment on somewhat urgent business." "Take a seat. He'll be up in a moment.
"Thanks," said George limply. "And you, Mr. Sturgis, you must redouble your efforts. You must search the land; you must scour the sea to find George Lattaker." "He needn't take all that trouble," said a voice from the gangway. It was Voules. His face was flushed, his hat was on the back of his head, and he was smoking a fat cigar. "I'll tell you where to find George Lattaker!" he shouted.
"That noble young man, George Lattaker, who, at the risk of his life, saved my high-born master from the assassin." George sat down suddenly. "I don't understand," he said feebly. "We were wrong, Mr. Sturgis," went on the Count. "We leaped to the conclusion was it not so? that the owner of the hat you found was also the assailant of my high-born master. We were wrong.
Marshall and gents, this morning I was on deck, and I over'eard 'im plotting to put up a game on you. They'd spotted that gent there as a detective, and they arranged that blooming Lattaker was to pass himself off as his own twin-brother. And if you wanted proof, blooming Pepper tells him to show them his mole and he'd swear George hadn't one. Those were his very words.
He glared at George, who was staring at him. "Yes, look at me," he yelled. "Look at me. You won't be the first this afternoon who's stared at the mysterious stranger who won for two hours without a break. I'll be even with you now, Mr. Blooming Lattaker. I'll learn you to break a poor man's heart. Mr.
That man there is George Lattaker, Hesquire, and let him deny it if he can." George got up. "I haven't the least desire to deny it, Voules." "Mr. Voules, if you please." "It's true," said George, turning to the Count. "The fact is, I had rather a foggy recollection of what happened last night.
I only remembered knocking some one down, and, like you, I jumped to the conclusion that I must have assaulted His Serene Highness." "Then you are really George Lattaker?" asked the Count. "I am." "'Ere, what does all this mean?" demanded Voules. "Merely that I saved the life of His Serene Highness the Prince of Saxburg-Leignitz, Mr. Voules."
Which was queer, because all the voyage she and George had been particularly close pals. In fact, at any moment I expected George to come to me and slip his little hand in mine, and whisper: "I've done it, old scout; she loves muh!" "I have not seen Mr. Lattaker," she said. I didn't pursue the subject. George's stock was apparently low that a.m.
Are they all still at breakfast? The gentleman who came to see Mr. Lattaker? Still hard at it?" "He is at present occupied with a kippered herring, sir." "Ah! That's all, Voules." "Thank you, sir." He retired. I called to George, and he came out. "Who was it?" "Only Voules. He brought a letter for you. They're all at breakfast still. The sleuth's eating kippers." "That'll hold him for a bit.
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