"He would be no longer your son. He would be her son."
"Then what am I?"
"That, Lady Woodroffe, is not for me to say."
"I promised to give you an audience. Therefore go on."
"Since there was no kind of proof of this imagining—or this dream—I thought that I would go down to Birmingham to search the registers."
"You are a detective, or a private and secret inquirer?"
"No; I am acting only for this lady."
"She is a millionairess. I hope she pays you well. But the facts—the facts. And you found——"
"A great deal more than I hoped. The facts which I set forth in my letter."
"An entry in the register, purporting to record the death of my son, and an entry in a hotel-book, giving my name,—that is all!"