“Tell me, my dear. Do you believe yourself to be our granddaughter?”
Slowly Lucy drew her hand out of her pocket and extended it. “Here is the ring you gave my mother. And here are photographs of us all—and a letter you wrote my mother—”
The false Lucy laughed. No one took the things Lucy offered. She stood there abashed. The false Lucy cried, “Why, Grandpa, they’re fakes—forgeries, that’s all.” Mrs. Bryant glanced back and forth between the two Lucys, bewildered and hurt. Finally she reached out and took the photographs and letters, and examined them.
“Marshall,” she said, “I did write this letter to Eleanor.” He made a gesture of disbelief. Mrs. Bryant turned to the newcomer. “Where did you get this letter?”
“Mother gave it to me. Just as she gave me this ring.”
“I also have my mother’s ring.” The false Lucy indignantly held up her hand with the silver ring. She was still assured, but her face had turned a sickly white.
Marshall Bryant exploded. “Someone here is lying! If you think I’ll set aside the detailed proof of my lawyer, and reject this lovely young woman we’re so fond of—if you expect me to take the word of a girl I’ve never seen or heard of before—Why, it is preposterous! Vicki, where in the world did you find this girl, and what in the world are you thinking of?”
Vicki said as bravely as she could, “Mr. Bryant, I have proof that she is your granddaughter, if you’ll only listen to me.”
“I think we’d better listen, Marshall,” said Mrs. Bryant. “I—er—before Mr. Dorn had found Lucy, I requested our young friend—since she sometimes flies in and out of San Francisco—to see whether she could learn anything about our granddaughter.”
“You did!” Marshall Bryant turned to Vicki. “And you actually investigated? But you’re not a trained investigator.”