"I saw it this morning," I answered. "And it is on that account that I am here."
"One moment before we go any further. Forgive what I am going to say—but you will see yourself that it is a point I am compelled not to neglect. Can you convince me as to your identity?"
"Very easily," I replied, diving my hand into my breast-pocket and taking out some papers. "First and foremost, here is my cheque-book. Here is my card-case. And here are two or three letters addressed to me by London and Sydney firms. The Hon. Mr. Wetherell, Colonial Secretary, will be glad I'm sure to give you any information. Is that sufficient evidence to convince you?"
"More than sufficient," he answered, smiling. "Now, let me tell you for what purpose we desired you to call upon us." He opened a drawer and took out a letter.
"First and foremost, let me tell you that we are the Sydney agents of Messrs. Atwin, Dobbs and Forsyth of Furnival's Inn, London. From them, by the last English mail, we received this letter. From it I gather that you are the son of James Dymoke Hatteras who was drowned at sea—is that so?"
"I am."
"Your father then was the third son of Sir Edward Hatteras of Murdlestone, in the county of Hampshire?"
"He was."
"And the brother of Sir William, who had one daughter, Gwendoline Mary?"
"That is so!"
"Well, Mr. Hatteras, it is my sad duty to inform you that your cousin, the lady just referred to, was drowned by accident in a pond near her home, and that
