"Oh, Dick, this is too horrible!"
"When such a child dies, everybody knows. Did her ladyship's family hear of it? It appears not. Evidence will be brought to show that she set out for London with her boy, that she wrote on arrival, and that she wrote immediately afterwards announcing the return of her husband. When such a child dies, the servants all know. Evidence will be given to show that none of the servants knew, or heard about, the loss of the heir—the only child. We are to prove that so terrible an event was not even announced in the servants' hall. But you shall hear Lady Woodroffe's own statement. Molly, you are now Lady Woodroffe, but I am speaking for you. 'In the autumn of 1873 I was staying at the country seat of my father, Lord Dunedin, in Scotland. I had just returned from India, and was waiting for the arrival of my husband, who was retiring from Indian service. Early in the month of February I received a telegram from Brindisi, to the effect that my husband had arrived there, and was coming home as fast as he could travel. I was to meet him at the house I had taken in London. I therefore left my father's, went on to Edinburgh, stayed the night there, and came on next morning to London, bringing with me the child and my ayah. The next day, or the day after, my husband arrived. I have never been in Birmingham in my life. My child, as an infant, never had any serious illness. As to the entry in the register, I heard of it for the first time from Mr. Richard Woodroffe, calling himself a distant cousin, a vocalist, who seems to have conceived and invented some kind of conspiracy for duping Mrs. Haveril, who is wealthy, and getting money for himself out of her!'"
"Oh, Dick," said Molly, "you haven't!"
"'You ask me'—you are still Lady Woodroffe—'what proofs I have of these assertions. I have the clearest proofs possible—the letter of my husband, telling me when he would arrive, the evidence of my father that I left Dunedin Castle in time to arrive in London a day or two before my husband—not more.' The evidence of an aged, white-haired, venerable peer will be conclusive, Molly. 'I have old servants who can prove that they have known the child from day to day, and must have discovered the fact immediately had there been any change.' Do you hear, Molly? An aged father, aged servants, a lady with a commanding and queenly presence, a brow of brass, and a voice steady and limpid as that of Truth herself. Poor Truth! she may get down into her well again."
"Well; but about the hotel and the register?"
"Let us ask Lady Woodroffe. She says, 'I know nothing about either. I cannot understand or explain who the woman was that personated me, and said her child was the son of Sir Humphrey. It has been suggested that she may have been the mistress of my husband. I cannot for a moment allow that my husband, the most blameless of men, whose life was passed with open windows, could have carried on an illicit connection. It is impossible and absurd. I have no theory to offer about the personation. I cannot understand it.' That is all."
"She is the most shameless, most abominable, creature alive!" said Molly.
"She has her reputation to maintain. Well, what have we got on our side? The entry; the fact of the adoption; and the resemblance. Put Sir Humphrey, the second baronet, in the box. You are now that worthy, Molly. Look at him, gentlemen of the jury. Look at him well. Turn him round slowly like a hairdresser's waxen effigy. Observe the fall of his hair and its colour; the colour of his eyes; the shape of his head. Here is a portrait of Anthony Woodroffe, who, we maintain, was his father: could there be a more striking resemblance? Here is the respectable Richard Woodroffe, also a son—an unworthy son—of Anthony, and who, we maintain, is the half-brother of the baronet. You observe again a startling resemblance? Then up jumps the other side, with the portrait of Sir Humphrey. Same hair—same eyes. Where is your other resemblance then? Which of the two is his father? He is curiously like them both. See?
"'Resemblance,' the learned counsel continued, 'is not enough. Let us hear the evidence of Sir Robert Steele, M.D., F.R.S., Ex-President of the College of Physicians, author of the Lord knows how many treatises. Take the book, Sir Robert.' We know what he will say about the child and the adoption. Now, listen. He goes on, 'The business over, I thought no more of the matter. Nor did I know the name of the lady, nor did I inquire. It was for me a matter of business partly, because I charged a fee, and of charity partly, because the child would otherwise have gone into the workhouse. I should not like to identify the lady after all these years, when she must have changed greatly; she wore a thick veil while we talked, and I remember only a pale face and regular features.' Or stuff like that," Dick explained. "'Yes, I am now acquainted with Lady Woodroffe, and I know her son. I cannot explain his resemblance to Mr. Richard Woodroffe. The two young men are said to be distant cousins. I never knew Mr. Anthony Woodroffe. I know nothing more about the case; I express no opinion upon the claim. The lady, in adopting the child, did not express her intention of substituting it.' That is the evidence of the medical man, if he would acknowledge that he remembered anything whatever about the transfer!"
"Dick," said Molly, "Humphrey must not know anything until—unless—the case is complete. Don't make him your enemy."