"I found you out, only yesterday, by means of this date. I was reminded of the date, and I suspected substitution. I therefore looked through the Red Book, and I came to the name of the present baronet. He was born, it is stated, on December 2, 1872—the exact date on which your own child was born. I looked out your address; I am here. I remember you perfectly. And I now find that my suspicions were correct."
"Do you accuse me of substituting a strange child for my own?" She spoke in words of indignation, but in a voice of terror.
"I merely state what happened—a transaction in which I took part. That is all, so far."
"Where is your proof? I deny everything. Prove what you say."
"It is very easy. I recognize in you the lady who conducted the business with me. I took the child myself to the railway station. I gave the child to the ayah, who took it to the carriage in which you were sitting."
"Proof! What kind of proof is that? You look in the Red Book, you find a date, and you make up a story."
"A man in my position does not make up stories. I am no longer a general practitioner; I am one of the leaders of my profession. I am no longer either obscure or poor. I have nothing whatever to gain by telling this story."
"Then, sir, why do you come to me with it at all?"
"Partly out of curiosity. I was curious to ascertain whether chance had directed me to the right quarter. I am satisfied on that score. Partly I came in order to warn you that the story may possibly be brought to light."
"How? how?"