I was curious to see whom he would bring forward as a witness to his identity. Scarcely Olivia, as if she once had a suspicion of the truth she would never rest until all was cleared up to her satisfaction. I hardly thought Felix would run such a risk, the more so as his story of losing the pearl ring could not stand against my assertion that it was on the finger of the dead man. If he still persisted in declaring himself to be Francis, I determined that he should ride with me to the Fen Inn and there see the corpse of the man whose name he had so shamelessly assumed. That would surely settle the matter. Felix was bolder than I gave him credit for, as his witness proved to be none other than Olivia Bellin. She entered the room with assumed lightness, but her face was anxious and she glanced every now and then at Felix, as though to seek his aid and countenance. He, as was natural, wore a haggard expression. His nerves were tensioned up to the highest pitch, a matter of small wonderment, seeing that his life's happiness depended upon this interview. "What is this strange story you bring, Mr. Denham?" asked Olivia, greeting me coldly. In our best days we were never overfriendly. "Has not Mr. Briarfield told you?" "I have not had the time," interposed Felix quickly; "beyond a few hints of the truth she knows nothing." "Not even that you are Felix Briarfield?" "Felix!" repeated Miss Bellin in surprise. "But you are making a mistake, Mr. Denham; this is Francis." "So he says!" "You see, Olivia," said Briarfield, addressing Miss Bellin, "Denham insists upon taking me for my brother Felix." "How absurd! I assure you, Mr. Denham, that Felix is in Paris. I only received a letter from him this morning." "Impossible!" said I, taken aback by the authority of her tone. "It is quite true," she continued hurriedly. "Excuse me for a moment, and I shall fetch the letter. You must believe the evidence of your own eyes." When she left the room, Felix turned toward me with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Are you convinced?" he asked mockingly. "No; I am puzzled." "In what way?" "To think how you managed to get that letter sent on from Paris without being there yourself." "Against stupidity the gods themselves fight in vain," quoth Felix, shrugging his shoulders. "I assure you that my brother Felix is in Paris. Miss Bellin is about to produce a letter received from him only this morning, and yet you insist that I am not myself, and that he whom I pretend to be is dead. You are mad." "Here is the letter," said Miss Bellin, entering at this moment. "You see it bears the date of yesterday, He is at present staying at the Hôtel des Étrangers, Rue de St. Honoré, but talks of going to Italy."