"That's so—you never knew. You were too young to remember. Yes, you had a brother—a twin brother. People hardly knew you apart. There was only one way in which your mother and I could tell."
"What was that?" demanded the promoter eagerly.
"He had a scar. He caught his hand in some machinery when a baby and it left a scar in the index finger of the left hand."
Transfixed, Kenneth listened open-mouthed. At last breaking the spell, he exclaimed:
"I never heard of him. You never spoke of him before."
"How should you remember?" went on the old woman. "It's many years ago. Your father and mother are dead. You have no relatives living. No one knows. But I know."
"Did he die?" asked Kenneth, deeply interested.
The old lady nodded affirmatively.
"I shall never forgive myself. It was my fault. You were playing together in the garden. I didn't dream either of you could come to harm. I went into the house for a moment to get something. When I came back your brother was gone—no trace of him anywhere. We never saw him again. Your father, heart-broken, offered a fortune for news of him. The police hunted high and low all over the country. There was no trace. Some gypsies had passed recently through the town. I always suspected them. That is thirty years ago and more."
"So it's not even known if he's dead," interrupted Kenneth eagerly.