The detective went on in his calm, even voice. “It is one of the disagreeable duties of our profession to make unpleasant disclosures. I made certain discoveries after taking up this case for Mr. Richard Croxton which up to the present I have withheld from you, out of consideration for your feelings. The time is come when you ought to know the truth. Sir George’s family consisted of himself and two brothers, there were no sisters. Both of these brothers died unmarried. Therefore Sir George can have no nephew. Mrs. Morrice was the only child of a not very successful artist; her mother lost her life in giving her birth. Therefore the same remark applies to her, young Archibald Brookes is no more her nephew than he is Sir George’s. And, of course, it follows that there was no marriage between her sister and his brother.” Morrice’s face went very white. “You have satisfied yourself that there is no flaw in your evidence—that it is quite reliable?” “Unquestionably,” was the detective’s answer. “My evidence with regard to your wife is her father’s statement made frequently in the hearing of several persons. As to Sir George’s brother, a colleague of mine in Australia made exhaustive inquiries on my behalf and found that Archibald Brookes senior had never married. I have also got further evidence from an old friend of mine at Scotland Yard who has had Sir George and his supposed nephew under observation for some time; that the young man was brought up under the charge of a woman named Alma Buckley, a not very prominent member of the music-hall profession, up to the period when Sir George adopted him and put about this story. Further, that at the time of his adoption young Archie Brookes was occupying an insignificant commercial post in the city of London. Of course, you know nothing of all this?” The words were not put in the form of a question, but rather conveyed the assumption that it was impossible the financier could have any knowledge of such a gross deception. But they brought to the surface at once that fiery temper which up to the present he had kept in check. “What do you take me for, sir? My greatest enemy can never say of me that I have been guilty of a mean or dishonourable action. Do you think for a moment, from any motives whatever, even from a desire to shield one so closely related to me, I would be a party to such a shameful fraud?” Lane hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters. “Pardon me, Mr. Morrice, I did not hint at such a thing. I said that, as a matter of course, you knew nothing about it.”