Chapter XLIII: His Second Half

The rattle of the window shade and the tramping of a number of feet on the stairs brought Barry to himself with a start just as the unknown put his finger to his lips and stepped noiselessly back into the shadow.

“Face round, but stand where you are,” breathed the unknown.

Lawrence obeyed instinctively, and the next instant the hall door opened to admit several men. The first was well on in years, with a tall, splendid figure and a noble, distinguished face. He seemed in the grip of some great, though partially suppressed, emotion; and, as he caught sight of Barry, he sprang hastily toward him, both hands outstretched.

“Oscar!” he cried, in a deep, vibrating voice which held a distinctly foreign intonation. “My dear boy! I----”

The words died in a queer gurgling sound. One of the men by the door cried out sharply; another drew his breath through his teeth with an odd, whistling noise. Then silence--tense, vibrating silence--fell upon the room as out of the shadows appeared the other man and moved noiselessly forward to Barry’s side.

He did not speak or stir after he had taken up his position there. The two men, so absolutely, unbelievably alike, stood shoulder to shoulder, motionless as statues, while the seconds ticked away and those who witnessed the amazing spectacle stared and stared with dazed faces, unable to credit the evidence of their senses.

Once only did Barry’s gaze waver from the stunned countenance of the older man to the other end of the room, where Shirley Rives stood bending far over the table, her face absolutely white, and her wide, dark eyes staring at him as if she were looking at a ghost.

At last a laugh, clear, hearty, and full of mirth, came from the man at his side, and broke the spell.

“Rather good, don’t you think, uncle?” the newcomer chuckled, stepping forward a little.

“_Gott in Himmel!_” breathed the older man. “You are----”

“Of course. Don’t you know me? I never supposed that you would be deceived.”

With a swift motion, the other caught his hands and drew him over to the light.

“Let me look at you!” he exclaimed, speaking German in his agitation. “I cannot tell! I do not know! I feel as if the whole world had been turned topsy-turvy.”

For a long minute he gazed searchingly into the young man’s face, while the others moved unconsciously closer to the two, Barry quite as dazed and bewildered as any of them. Suddenly he threw back his gray head and flung one arm impulsively around the young fellow’s shoulder.

“You _are_ Oscar!” he exclaimed. “I know it!”

For a second he was silent. Then he turned swiftly toward the group of men who had entered with him, and singled out one with his flashing eyes.

“What does this mean, Baron Hager?” he demanded imperiously. “How dare you play such a trick upon me? It is infamous!”

It was the man with the beard who stepped forward; and Barry saw that he was trembling in every limb, while beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

“Your highness!” he gasped. “I--I---- It is not a trick. I--have never seen--this man before.”

“Never seen him! Nonsense! I’m not a child. How did he get here? What is he doing in this house? Who is he?”

Hager stared helplessly at Lawrence, and then his bewildered eyes wandered dazedly to the smiling double. His emotion was so great, however, that he did not speak, and it was Brennen who answered.

“I can tell you that,” he said shortly. “He’s the man we’ve been trailing all over New York, thinking he was your nephew. He’s the man we decoyed here to-night for you to meet. If he ain’t the right one, we’re a lot of suckers, that’s all.”

“He’s my second half, uncle,” interposed the young man, smiling. “It isn’t everybody who can have such a good one, you know.”

“Is that the truth, Oscar?” demanded the older man. “Has he been passing himself off for you all this time?”

“Exactly, and he did it wonderfully well, too. I owe him an everlasting debt----”

The sentence was never finished. As he stood there, unable to make head or tail of what was being said, Barry had a horrible conviction that somehow his curiosity was never going to be gratified. He had come as close as this several times before to learning the name of the man he so resembled, and he was determined to take no more chances.

“My dear fellow,” he burst out, unable longer to contain himself, “if you owe me anything at all, for Heaven’s sake pay me now by telling me who on earth you are.”

“You mean to say you do not know!” exclaimed the older man incredulously. “Why, such a thing is preposterous.”

The laughter vanished suddenly from the nephew’s face, and, stepping swiftly forward, he caught Barry’s hand in a firm grip.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Lawrence,” he said contritely. “I’ve been fearfully discourteous. Please forgive me, and do not think me ungrateful for what you have done. I am Prince Oscar, of Ostrau, and this is my uncle, the Grand Duke Frederick.”