‘Our mutual friend, Dr. McCosh, has often spoken to me of you. That was a noble deed of yours, and I am glad to know you, Mr. Larkins.’
‘But Lady Farrington?’ eagerly interposed Herbert, as soon as he civilly could.
‘It is a case of some little difficulty. I am really rather perplexed. Her ladyship is perfectly sane, I think, and rational, except on one point. If I could but obtain some independent testimony on that, I might see my way. She perseveres in asseverating, although she can adduce no proofs, that her son Herbert, whom she has not seen for upwards of five and twenty years, left a son, and that you, Mr. Larkins, are he.’
Herbert replied slowly and with an air of the deepest conviction,
‘She is perfectly right. I am.’
‘Great powers!’ cried Sir Rupert, starting to his feet and foaming with rage. ‘Was there ever such matchless effrontery?’
‘It can be fully substantiated,’ went on Herbert, still perfectly calm.
‘It is a gross and unfounded lie, from beginning to end—a conspiracy, an attempt to defraud.’
‘Of that the law can only judge,’ said Dr. Mayne; ‘but I must confess Mr. Larkins’ assertion so far satisfies my mind that I feel convinced Lady Farrington is not suffering from any hallucination, and I shall recommend her immediate discharge.’