Durham felt a qualm and suppressed a start with difficulty. Had this dangerous woman discovered the fugitive at Cove Castle. "Do you know if he is alive?" asked Durham, quietly looking at her. "Perhaps," said Mrs. Gilroy, who seemed to be thinking. Then she rose. "I don't know that I need bother you further," she said. "Will you tell me why you demand this money?" "Because Sir Simon promised it to me." "On what grounds." "On very good grounds." "Will you tell me what they are?" "Will you give me the five hundred a year if I do?" she countered. "That is out of my power. When Sir Bernard appears I will speak to him on the subject if your claim is a good one." "My claim is an excellent one," she burst out, raising herself to her full height. "It is the claim of a wronged woman!" She paused. "I want to ask you about the will," she said. "Is it worded that the money is left 'to my grandson.'" "To my grandson Bernard Gore." "The name is mentioned." "It is. The money is clearly left to Sir Bernard." "Sir Bernard," she sneered. "Why give him a title to which he has no claim? The money may be his, else I would not tell you what I now do tell you. My son is the baronet--my son Michael." Durham stared at her, quite taken aback. "What on earth are you talking about, Mrs. Gilroy?" he demanded. "Mrs. Gilroy," she echoed with scorn. "I shall no longer use a false name. I am Mrs. Walter Gore." "Impossible. Walter Gore was married to Bianca Tolomeo!" "He was married to me first," said Mrs. Gilroy, rapidly. "Yes, you may stare, but I am the lawful wife of Walter Gore and my son Michael is the heir. He is the image of his father. There's no trickery about the matter." "The image of his father," cried Durham, a sudden light breaking in upon him. "And Walter Gore was tall, slim, the image of his son Bernard. Mrs. Gore, or Mrs. Gilroy, or whatever you call yourself, was it your son who murdered his grandfather?" The woman became livid. "No, I swear he didn't. He is in America." "He is in England, and he masqueraded as Bernard when courting Jane the housemaid," said Durham, excitedly. "You say yourself he resembled Walter Gore. Bernard is exactly like his father, so Michael must resemble him sufficiently to pass as him." "It is absolutely false!" cried Mrs. Gilroy, seeing she had fallen into the trap of her own words. "My son is in America. You shall not prove him guilty. I opened the door to Bernard." "To Michael. You perhaps mistook him for Bernard." "A mother can't mistake her own son. But Michael is the heir. I shall write to America and bring him home. I can prove my marriage with Walter Gore." "Do so by all means," said Durham, recovering his wits. "I am acting for Sir Bernard, and he shall not lose the title if I can help it. I see you are playing a deep game, Mrs. Gilroy, but you have let out too much. I shall now search for Michael, your son, and see if he was not in London on the night of the twenty-third of October."