"But your reason for thinking she speaks truly?"
"I will give one; a sufficient one. Mrs. Gilroy declared that her son, Michael Gore—so she termed him—was the heir. She explained that there could be no deception, as he is the image of his father."
"Oh!" Bernard started to his feet, seeing light. "And I am the image of my father, as was always said. This man must be——"
"He is. I am sure of that. Michael, your half-brother, is the man resembling you who masqueraded—probably at the instance of his mother. I daresay he saw Sir Simon on that night, and was admitted by his mother. Probably he insisted that he was the heir, and Sir Simon lost his temper. Then he killed the old man, and——"
"And Mrs. Gilroy put the crime on to my shoulders. I see it all."
"I don't," said Durham, dryly. "I wish I did. For instance, I don't see why you were brought to Crimea Square in the nick of time for Mrs. Gilroy to accuse you. I don't understand about the Red Window either!"
Gore walked up and down the room much agitated. "Mark," he cried at last, "I must come out and face this. I can't sit still here, knowing that all this villainy is about."
"You must," insisted Mark, firmly. "Remember I am your lawyer and I will look after your interests, to say nothing of Conniston, who has remained in England for your sake. Wait, Bernard. In good time I will bring you forward."
"But what will you do?"
"I shall see Mrs. Gilroy and question her again. She declared that her son was in America when I accused him to her of having killed Sir Simon. Now Michael undoubtedly presented this check at the beginning of October. The murder took place at the end of the month, so Michael was in England. When I place this fact before Mrs. Gilroy, she may give in and confess."