ou made a young lady known to me under a false
name?" I asked, with the amused feeling that the days of wonders and
portents had not passed away yet. That the eminently serious Fynes
should do such an exceptional thing was simply staggering. With a more
hasty enunciation than usual little Fyne was sure that I would not
demand an apology for this irregularity if I knew what her real name
was. A sort of warmth crept into his deep tone.

"We have tried to befriend that girl in every way. She is the daughter
and only child of de Barral."

Evidently he expected to produce a sensation; he kept his eyes fixed
upon me prepared for some sign of it. But I merely returned his
intense, awaiting gaze. For a time we stared at each other. Conscious
of being reprehensibly dense I groped in the darkness of my mind: De
Barral, De Barral--and all at once noise and light burst on me as if a
window of my memory had been suddenly flung open on a street in the
City. De Barral! But could it be the same? Surely not!

"The financier?" I suggested half incredulous.

"Yes," said Fyne; and in this instance his native solemnity of tone
seemed to be strangely appropriate. "The convict."

Marlow looked at me, significantly, and remarked in an explanatory tone:

"One somehow never thought of de Barral as having any children, or any
other home than the offices of the `Orb'; or any other existence,
associations or interests than financial. I see you remember the
crash..."

"I was away in the Indian Seas at the time," I said. "But of course--"

"Of course," Marlow struck in. "All the world... You may wonder at my
slowness in recognising the name. But you know that my memory is merely
a mausoleum of proper names. There they lie inanimate, awaiting the
magic touch--and not very prompt in arising when called, either. The
name is the first thing I forget of a man. It is but just to add that
frequently it is also the last, and this accounts for my possession of a
good many anonymous memories. In de Barral's case, he got put away in
my mausoleum in company with so many names of his own creation that
really he had to throw off a monstrous heap of grisly bones before he
stood before me at the call of the wizard Fyne. The fellow had a pretty
fancy in names: the `Orb' Deposit Bank, the `Sceptre' Mutual Aid
Society, the `Thrift and Independence' Association. Yes, a very pretty
taste in names; and nothing else besides--absolutely nothi