"To be sure, sir—same as James's," she replied. "Him and me was the only two there was. I've brought papers with me that'll prove what I say. I went to a lawyer before ever I came, and he told me to come at once, and to bring my marriage lines, and a copy of James's birth certificate, and one or two other things of that sort. There's no doubt that this man we've read about in the newspapers was my brother, and of course I would like to put in my claim to what he's left—if he's left it to nobody else."
"Just so," agreed Mr. Lindsey. "Aye—and how long is it since you last saw your brother, now?"
The woman shook her head as if this question presented difficulties.
"I couldn't rightly say to a year or two, no, not even to a few years," she answered. "And to the best of my belief, sir, it'll be a good thirty years, at the least. It was just after I was married to Hanson, and that was when I was about three-and-twenty, and I was fifty-six last birthday. James came—once—to see me and Hanson soon after we was settled down, and I've never set eyes on him from that day to this. But—I should know him now."
"He was buried yesterday," remarked Mr. Lindsey. "It's a pity you didn't telegraph to some of us."
"The lawyer I went to, sir, said, 'Go yourself!'" replied Mrs. Hanson.
"So I set off—first thing this morning."
"Let me have a look at those papers," said Mr. Lindsey.
He motioned me to his side, and together we looked through two or three documents which the woman produced.
The most important was a certified copy of James Gilverthwaite's birth certificate, which went to prove that this man had been born in Liverpool about sixty-two years previously; that, as Mr. Lindsey was quick to point out, fitted in with what Gilverthwaite had told my mother and myself about his age.
"Well," he said, turning to Mrs. Hanson, "you can answer some questions, no doubt, about your brother, and about matters in relation to him. First of all, do you know if any of your folks hailed from this part?"