Explore "A Front of Brass" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hot, and sore, and angry, Morton paced up and down the library, awaiting Grant's return. He had never expected a humiliation of this kind. He was at a loss, too, to understand what it all meant. He would have given a great deal to know why Grant was impersonating him in this audacious manner. He wondered if Scarsdale had anything to do with it. Certainly Mrs. Scarsdale must be a party in the fraud. But why had she been dragged into the matter, and what did anybody expect to gain by it? If Sir Bruce Leverton deliberately chose to be a blind fool, then he must take the consequences of his folly. If the worst came to the worst, Morton decided to make his way by road as far as Scarsdale's place and tell him everything. This course would be the means of giving Mrs. Scarsdale an uncomfortable hour or so on her return home. There was some extraordinary conspiracy afoot here that Morton did not like at all. Still he had all the cards in his hands, and--He came to himself with a shock, and the knowledge that somebody was tapping on the window. As he pushed the casement back he saw a shaggy gray beard and a mass of hair about a face that was none too clean. An odour of stale tobacco and spirits filled the air.
"Who are you and what do you want with me?" Morton demanded.