"Thank you, sir," said Jane, accepting without a moment's hesitation. "Of course, Bernard's dead now, so there's no use keeping his letters, but if he'd been alive I'd have kept them on the chance of his not making me Lady Gore!"
"Did he wear any rings?" asked Durham, paying the money and putting the letter away.
"Three, sir. Two gold and one silver."
This was another point of difference. Bernard hated rings and never by any chance wore any, not even a signet ring. But by this time Jane's information was exhausted, and Durham concluded her examination for the moment. He would be able to resume it later when necessary, and congratulated himself on the fact that he had secured Jane as his housemaid. When brought face to face with the real Bernard she would be able to see the difference between him and his double. And then she might also be able to recognize the double should he be found. Just as he was dismissing Jane with a letter to his housekeeper a clerk brought in a name written on a piece of paper. "Mrs. Gilroy," said Durham to himself, wondering greatly. "Tell her to come in," he said aloud, and ushered Jane out quickly by another door. It would never have done to have let Mrs. Gilroy meet her, seeing that the Hall housekeeper was hostile to Bernard. So Jane departed rejoicing, and Durham went back to his desk well satisfied.
"Bernard never wrote this note, as it is different in many ways to his writing," he murmured. "Bernard never wears rings, and he has a mole on his chin which this double apparently lacks. Without doubt the impersonation has been very clever. But I wonder how I am to find the double."
Before he could reply to this perplexing question, the clerk showed in Mrs. Gilroy, as demure and sly-looking as ever. She was richly dressed in black silk, much better dressed in fact than she had ever been during the life of her master. Also Durham noted that there was an aggressive air about her which he had not noticed before. Perhaps this was due to her receipt of an annuity. She was not a lady, and yet she could not be called common. Durham had never examined her carefully before, but now that she was dangerous to Gore's interest he looked at her carefully. A strange woman and a dangerous was his verdict. He proceeded to feel his way cautiously, wondering what she had come about.
"It's to see me about your annuity?" he said, tentatively.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Gilroy, coldly, and took the seat which had been vacated by Jane. "My beggarly annuity?"
The lawyer, who had taken up his position before the fire with his hands under the tails of his frock coat, turned to look at her. The bitterness of the tone startled him. "What do you mean?"
"Mean!" echoed Mrs. Gilroy, with a vindictive glitter in her pale eyes. "That Sir Simon promised me five hundred a year for life."