“Listen!” I cried furiously. “It is useless for you to affect either ignorance or indifference. This is no case of mistaken identity. You forget that I am a medical man, and that my eye can detect a mark upon the flesh where the layman sees nothing. That crinkled depression on the inside of your wrist is a mark left in infancy. It cannot be imitated, neither can it be obliterated. You may alter your facial expression, or the outline of your figure; but you cannot alter that.”
He glanced at his wrist, and I saw that he had never before noticed the indelible mark upon the flesh.
“You bore that mark on the day we met three months ago, and you bear it now,” I went on. “Do you still deny your presence in London on the date I have mentioned?”
“Of course I do,” he said.
“Then, you are a liar, and I will treat you as such!” I responded firmly.
We were standing facing one another, and I saw in his eyes an evil glint which told me plainly that he was no mean antagonist.
“You pay me a compliment,” he said coolly. “I cannot see what motive you have in thus insulting me.”
“It is no insult,” I cried. “You are my enemy. You and your accomplice, Tattersett, devised an ingenious trap, and then called me in for professional consultation. The trap was well baited, and, as you intended, I fell into it. I thank God for one thing—namely, that I did not commit murder at your instigation.”
He smiled again, but no word escaped him.
“You cannot think that I am in ignorance of the plot, or that I am unaware that, owing to the deception you have practised upon me, Beryl Wynd is my wife.”