Of course Mr. Barker was responsible in some measure for having introduced this villain to the Countess and to the Duke.  But how could Mr. Barker, a creature of sunny, lamb-like innocence, be expected to know an impostor at first sight?  Claudius had acted his part so very well, you know, and Barker had been deceived by his apparent frankness; he had not even made any inquiries in Heidelberg, but had simply gone to the address his father had given him.  Of course, also, the pretender had adopted the obvious expedient of taking the dead man’s lodgings; had installed himself there, and called himself “Dr. Claudius.”  Nobody in America had ever seen the real Dr. Claudius; none of the yachting party had any means of knowing whether he were what he pretended to be or not; the only person who vouched for him was Silas B. Barker junior.  And if Silas B. Barker junior would not vouch for him any longer, who would, pray?  Obviously, no one.

“Dukes are very pretty things,” said Mr. Barker; “and to know them intimately is a special grace.  But they cannot swear to what they do not know anything about, any more than other people.”  And he lit another cigar, and looked at the clock, an old-fashioned black-marble timepiece with gilded hands.  It wanted half an hour of midnight, and Mr. Barker’s solitude had lasted since seven or thereabouts.  Some one entered the room, bidding good-night to some one else at the door.  Mr. Barker turned his eyes, and, recognising a friend, he smiled a wrinkled smile.

“Well, Mr. Screw, how goes it?” he said.  “It is some time since we met.”

“Happy to meet you, sir; glad to see you,” replied the lawyer, putting out a long hand towards the part of the room where Mr. Barker was standing.

Mr. Screw was Mr. Scratch’s partner.  Mr. Screw was very tall, very thin, and exceedingly yellow.  He had thick yellow hair, streaked with gray.  His face seemed bound in old parchment, and his eyes were like brass nails driven very deep, but bright and fixed when he spoke.  He had a great abundance of teeth of all sizes and shapes; his face was clean shaven; and he wore a stand-up collar, with a narrow black tie neatly adjusted in a bow.  His feet and hands were of immense size.  He was in evening-dress.  He doubled up a few of his joints and deposited himself in a deep arm-chair—­the twin of Barker’s—­on the other side of the fireplace.

“I thought very likely you would be here before the evening was out,” said Mr. Barker.  “Yes,” he continued after a pause, “that is the reason I came here.  I wanted to see you on business, and I missed you to-day down town.”

“Oh! business, did you say?” inquired the other, rubbing his bony nose and looking at the empty grate.

“Yes, rather important to you—­more than to myself, though it concerns me too.  You have a new client, I believe; the nephew of our old partner Mr. Lindstrand.”

“Dr. Claudius?” asked the lawyer, looking up.