‘“Saw him,”’ repeated a thick, still voice. ‘He stood there, in that very doorway, Mrs Lovat, and positively railed at me. He stood there and streamed out all the names he could lay his tongue to. I wasn’t—unfriendly to the poor beggar. When Bethany let me into it I thought it was simply—I did indeed, Mrs Lawford—a monstrous exaggeration. Flatly, I didn’t believe it; shall I say that? But when I stood face to face with him, I could have taken my oath that that was no more poor old Arthur Lawford than—well, I won’t repeat what particular word occurred to me. But there,’ the corpulent shrug was almost audible, ‘we all know what old Bethany is. A sterling old chap, mind you, so far as mere character is concerned; the right man in the right place; but as gullible and as soft-hearted as a tom-tit. I’ve said all this before, I know, Mrs Lawford, and been properly snubbed for my pains. But if I had been Bethany I’d have sifted the whole story at the beginning, the moment he put his foot into the house. Look at that Tichborne fellow—went for months and months, just picking up one day what he floored old Hawkins—wasn’t it?—with the next. But of course,’ he added gloomily, ‘now that’s all too late. He’s moaned himself into a tolerably tight corner. I’d just like to see, though, a British jury comparing this claimant with his photograph, ‘pon my word I would. Where would he be then, do you think?’ ‘But my dear Mr Danton,’ went on the clear, languid voice Lawford had heard break so light-heartedly into laughter, ‘you don’t mean to tell me that a woman doesn’t know her own husband when she sees him—or, for the matter of that, when she doesn’t see him? If Tom came home from a ramble as handsome as Apollo to-morrow, I’d recognise him at the very first blush—literally! He’d go nuzzling off to get his slippers, or complain that the lamps had been smoking, or hunt the house down for last week’s paper. Oh, besides, Tom’s Tom—and there’s an end of it.’ ‘That’s precisely what I think, Mrs Lovat; one is saturated with one’s personality, as it were.’ ‘You see, that’s just it! That’s just exactly every woman’s husband all over; he is saturated with his personality. Bravo, Mr Craik!’ ‘Good Lord,’ said Danton softly. ‘I don’t deny it!’ ‘But that,’ broke in Sheila crisply—‘that’s just precisely what I asked you all to come in for. It’s because I know now, apart altogether from the mere evidence, that—that he is Arthur. Mind, I don’t say I ever really doubted. I was only so utterly shocked, I suppose. I positively put posers to him; but his memory was perfect in spite of the shock which would have killed a—a more sensitive nature.’ She had risen, it seemed, and was moving with all her splendid impressiveness of silk and presence across the general line of vision. But the hall was dark and still; her eyes were dimmed with light. Lawford could survey her there unmoved. ‘Are you there, Ada?’ she called discreetly. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ answered the faint voice from below.