“And young Henley?” I asked, as he paused.

“Henley,” he continued gravely, “was at last located, under an assumed name, as a prisoner in the Indiana penitentiary at Michigan City, serving a sentence of fourteen years for forgery.  He positively refuses to identify himself as Philip Henley, and all our efforts to gain him a pardon have failed.”

“But what have I to do with all this?” I questioned, beginning to have a faint glimmer of the truth.

“Wait, and I will explain fully.  Don’t interrupt until I am done.  Here was a peculiar situation.  The administrators are all old personal friends of the testator, anxious to have the estate retained in the family.  How could this be accomplished?  Neale laid the case before me.  I can see but one feasible method—­illegal, to be sure, and yet justifiable under the circumstances.  Someone must impersonate Philip Henley long enough to permit the settlement of the estate.”

I rose to my feet indignantly.

“And you thought I would consent? would be a party to this fraud?”

“Now, wait, Craig,” as calmly as ever.  “This is nothing to be ashamed of, nor, so far as I can see, as a lawyer, does it involve danger.  It will make a man of Henley, reunite him with his wife if she still lives, and give him standing in the world.  Scattered about among charities the Lord knows who it would benefit—­a lot of beggars likely.  We are merely helping the boy to retain what is rightfully his.  Don’t throw this chance away, hastily—­ten thousand dollars is pretty good pay for a couple of months’ work.”

I sank back into my chair undecided, yet caught by the glitter of the promise.  Why not?  Surely, it would do no harm, and, if the administrators were satisfied, what cause had I to object.  They were responsible, and, if they thought this the best course, I might just as well take my profit.  If not they would find someone else who would.

“But—­but can that be done?” I asked hesitatingly.

Vail smiled, confident of my yielding.

“Easily,” he assured.  “Young Henley has been away five years; even before that he was absent at school so much as to be practically unknown except to the older servants.  These have all been discharged, and scattered.  The wife is entirely unknown there.  Anyone, bearing ever so slight a resemblance, would pass muster.  All you need do is read the father’s letters over, post yourself on a few details and take possession.  We will attend to all legal matters.”

“Then you consider that I resemble Henley?”

“No,” coolly, “not in any remarkable manner, but sufficient for our purpose—­age, size, general appearance answers very well; nose, eyes and hair are alike, and general contour of the face is similar.  There is not likely to be any close scrutiny.  Here is young Henley’s photograph.”

He picked it up from among the papers, and handed it over to me.  There was a resemblance, recognizable now that my attention had been called to it, certain features being remarkably similar, although the face in the picture wore a hard, dissipated look utterly at variance with my own.  I glanced at the endorsement on the back.