I believe for a while he thought _you_ were he; and Dangerfield laughed his dry, hard chuckle.
'Where, Sir, do you suppose Charles Archer is now to be found ?' urged Mervyn.
'Why, what remains of him, in Florence,' answered Dangerfield.
'You speak, Sir, as if you thought him dead.' 'Think?
I know he's dead.

I knew him but three weeks, and visited him in his sickness--was in his room half an hour before he died, and attended his funeral,' said Dangerfield.
'I implore of you, Sir, as you hope for mercy, don't trifle in this matter,' cried Mervyn, whose face was white, like that of a man about to swoon under an operation.
'Trifle! What d'ye mean, Sir ?' barked out Dangerfield, rabidly.
'I mean, Sir, _this_--I've information he's positively living, and can relieve my father's memory from the horrible imputation that rests upon it.

You know who I am!' 'Ay, Sir, Lord Castlemallard told me.' 'And my life I cheerfully devote to the task of seizing and tracing out the bloody clue of the labyrinth in which I'm lost.' 'Good--'tis a pious as well as a prudent resolve,' said Dangerfield, with a quiet sneer.

'And now, Sir, give me leave to say a word.

Your information that Charles Archer is living, is not worth the breath of the madman that spoke it, as I'll presently show you.