“A blood relative, eh?” The coroner spoke more slowly, carefully. “I suppose you could prove that point to the satisfaction of a court.”
“With a little time. I’d have to go back to the records of my own old home. What are you getting at?”
“What was your father’s name, may I ask?”
“Henry H. Nealman.”
“Older or younger than Grover Nealman?”
“Nearly ten years older, or thereabouts.”
“Where was Mr. Nealman born?”
“In Rensselaer, New York. His father was named Henry H. Nealman, also. He was a rug manufacturer. There was also one sister that died many years ago—Grace Nealman. Are you satisfied that I am really his niece, Mr. Weldon?”
“Perfectly.” The coroner nodded, slowly. “Perfectly satisfied.”