The lawyer pressed him on this point for some time, until the court interfered. “May it please the court, the witness has not given his true name. We shall be able to prove, if necessary, that he is here under an assumed character, that his evidence is utterly unreliable and worthless,” said Dick, turning to the judges; and he was permitted to proceed. “Once more, Dr. Bilks, what is your real name?” The doctor was silent. It was evident that Dick Birch had not worked for nothing during his absence. “Answer me, if you please,” said Dick, sternly. Dr. Bilks looked around the room, as if to measure the full extent of his difficulty. He saw some one, apparently, whose presence startled him. “My real name is Thomas Lynch,” replied the doctor, as the cold sweat stood upon his forehead. “I thought so,” replied Dick, triumphantly, as he glanced at Hungerford to see the effect of this astonishing revelation. Eugene actually leaped to his feet with surprise, for that name was the key to everything which had been dark and mysterious. “Why did you change your name, Dr. Lynch?” asked Dick. “Because the name of Lynch does not suit me. It was an injury to me in my practice. I have been taken for an Irishman so many times that I assumed my mother’s maiden name.” “Was that the only reason?” “It was.” “Is your mother living?” “She is not.” “What was the name of her last husband?” Dr. Lynch, as we must hereafter call him, was not disposed to answer this question. The court thought it was unnecessary; and Dick explained what he intended to prove. “The name of your mother’s last husband, if you please?” repeated Dick. “John Hungerford,” replied the doctor, desperately, as he glanced at a woman in the witness seats, who was a stranger to most of the people present at the trial. CHAPTER XXV. DR. LYNCH. Dr. Lynch struggled against a bad appearance. He had turned pale; he was shaking in the knees; he did not look his torturer in the face. He knew that all these things were against him. He had seen the woman in the witness seats. Her presence alone had induced him to tell the truth. She had been John Hungerford’s housekeeper, and she knew Tom Lynch as well as she knew the three eminent trustees who had daily visited the _millionnaire_ while he was in the throes of making his will. By the time the doctor was ready to answer the question relating to his mother’s second husband, he had measured his surroundings; he had weighed Mrs. Black, the housekeeper, and had apparently satisfied himself that she could not turn the scale wholly against him. He had sufficiently explained the reason for adopting a new name--a simple and very satisfactory reason, it seemed to him. Dr. Lynch had decided what course to pursue, and the decision had to a great extent restored his self-possession. He looked around the room, and smiled. It was a rather ghastly smile, and the doctor would have done better not to attempt it.