Armitstead," he answered. "And there's something you know
about this case?"
"I know this," replied Mr. Armitstead. "I met John Ashton in Paris some
weeks ago. We were at the Hotel Bristol together. In fact, we met and
introduced ourselves to each other in an odd way. We arrived at the Hotel
Bristol at the same time--he from Italy, I from London, and we registered
at the same moment. Now, I have a habit of always signing my name in
full, Armitstead Ashton Armitstead. I signed first; he followed. He
looked at me and smiled. 'You've got one of my names, anyway, sir,' he
remarked. 'And I see you hail from where I hailed from, many a long year
ago.' 'Then you're a Lancashire man?' I said. 'I left Lancashire more
years ago than I like to think of,' he answered, with a laugh. And then
we got talking, and he told me that he had emigrated to Australia when he
was young, and that he was going back to England for the first time. We
had more talk during the two or three days that we were at the Bristol
together, and we came to the conclusion that we were distantly related--a
long way back. But he told me that, as far as he was aware, he had no
close relations living, and when I suggested to him that he ought to go
down to Lancashire and look up old scenes and old friends, he replied
that he'd no intention of doing so--he must, he said, have been
completely forgotten in his native place by this time.
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