"The last name of the Marguerite that died was so like Checkynshaw."
"What was the name of the other Marguerite?"
"Poulebah."
"Did you make any effort to find the parents of the child you adopted?"
"I did; I found the lodgings they had occupied, and the concierge identified some clothing and the locket which I carried to him. He told me that the parents of the child were both dead. He only knew that they were English. I have no doubt now that he was a bad man, and that he told me what he knew was not true in regard to the child."
"Why so?"
"I think it is probable the Chuckinghams left some property in their rooms which he desired to keep, and because I have learned from Mr. Checkynshaw that the house I visited was not the one occupied by him. The concierge told me two falsehoods—that the clothing and locket belonged to the child of his lodger, and that she spoke French."
The lawyer twisted the matter about in various ways; but André was as clear as light itself, and he did not materially contradict himself. Mrs. Checkynshaw was called for the defence; but, to the astonishment and disgust of the legal gentleman and his employers, she testified, in the most positive manner, that the elegant young lady in court was Marguerite Checkynshaw. She had taken care of her as a child, and she could not be mistaken. Mrs. Wittleworth was put upon the stand, with the letter announcing the death of Marguerite in her hand; but, poor woman, all her evidence was against herself. She identified the locket, and was in the end very sure that the beautiful young lady was her niece.
Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth was utterly disgusted, though he could not help believing that the young lady was his cousin. Not a doubt was left in the mind of any person, and of course Mr. Checkynshaw won his case; but the great man was very far from satisfied with himself, or with the position in which the trial left him. It was apparent to all the world that he had attempted to defraud Mrs. Wittleworth out of the block of stores, and ten years' income upon it; but the banker was not a man to bend before the storm of popular opinion. He took the trouble to define his position, and to explain away what was dark and unsatisfactory. He did not believe his child was dead. He was satisfied that Marguerite Poulebah was Marguerite Checkynshaw, though he could not find her. The director of the hospital said the Sisters had taken her, and he was sure she was living.
Besides, it would have been wicked to hand the property over to Mrs. Wittleworth for her drunken husband to squander away, and make her a beggar a second time. He intended, in due time, if his daughter did not appear, to pass the property to the rightful heir when it could be safely done. The integrity of his intentions could not be doubted, for had he not given Mrs. Wittleworth ten thousand dollars? The quitclaim deed, he declared, was only to save himself from being annoyed by Fitz and his father. Of course he intended to make it all right in the end.