"He did not. She came to him."
"Her own child was dead. Did she come to the place before the child died, or after?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Who else was concerned? Let us consider. An Indian ayah. Now, one doesn't bury a child and adopt another child without other people knowing it. You can't do it—servants must know. Perhaps the child was substituted. That has been done, I believe. But servants must know the secret. Then there are the undertakers who buried the child; the place where it is buried. If we knew the name of the child, I believe it would be easy, after all, to trace it. Then there is the place where the child died; it isn't often that a child dies in a hotel. There are the doctors who attended the child—they might remember the case. If we only knew the name of the child! Without that, we are powerless."
"I told you, Dick," said Molly, "that we want you to find the clue. If we knew the name of the child, we could go on quite easily without you."
"Very likely," he continued.
"There was no concealment; it was an open adoption known to everybody concerned, who were only three people."
"Then, why did the lady conceal her name?"
"She was probably anxious that the child should not know his relations at all. Perhaps, Dick, if you were to go away and think for a bit," Molly insisted.
"Oh yes; presently! Meantime there is one very simple way. Will you spend some money?"