It was Richard Woodroffe, proposing to make his last attempt. Before doing so, he had run down to Birmingham and seen the newly-found witness. He was a most trustworthy person; he picked out the photograph of Lady Woodroffe from a bundle of photographs; he remembered the case and the lady perfectly well. There was, therefore, no doubt possible that she had been in Birmingham at that time, and that she had lost her own son. "Sir"--she sat up in her chair with angry eyes--"this is persecution! I have already given a patient hearing to your most impudent story." "You have, Lady Woodroffe." Neither her angry looks nor her presence disconcerted him now. He was so perfectly certain of his cause, and of her shameless falsehood, that he stood before her at ease, and even with some appearance of dignity. "I even took the trouble to invite your friend, the person for whom you profess to act, the woman with the delusion----" "You did." He did not wait to be invited. He took a chair and sat down in it. "In order to convince her of her absurdity." "In which you failed. Because, after all your talk, there remained the solid fact--the death of Sir Humphrey's son." "Sir Humphrey had one son only, who is still living. I was wrong in thinking that a plain statement of facts could move the poor mad woman. She brought with her a young person, who encouraged her to insult me. They even attempted to assault me, I believe. After the grossest abuse, they carried off a bundle of baby-linen, and things that I had treasured, for reasons which I fear you are incapable of understanding." "No, Lady Woodroffe, on the contrary, I understand them very well. You brought them out on this occasion with the intention of showing this poor lady what I must venture to call your defiance." "My defiance? Certainly; I accept the word. My defiance. You appear to be almost as polite as your friends, Mr. Woodroffe." "You could not have chosen a more effective manner of announcing your intentions. 'There!' you said, 'these clothes which you made with your own fingers show that it is your boy; yet you shall not have him, and I defy you to prove that he is yours.'" "You are correct on one point. I do defy you to prove that fact." "Very well; I am here to-day to tell you that I have advanced one more step, and a very important step it is." "Important or not, I defy you to prove the fact. This is not, however, exactly an acknowledgment. But I shall not argue with you; I believe I ought to hand you over at once to my lawyers, to be dealt with for conspiracy." Richard Woodroffe smiled. "I wish you would," he said. "I should like nothing better than the publicity of an action." "Oh," she groaned, "the pertinacity of the black-mailer!" "I shall not be insulted, whatever you say. I am here to tell you that the proofs have now closed round you so completely, that there is not left, I verily believe, a single loophole of escape."