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"As far as we know."
"And the family, Paul Tate's family, believed it and believed they buried Ruby Tate?"
"Yes," I said.
"There was actually a death certificate issued in your name?"
"Yes," I said, swallowing hard. The vivid memories of attending my own funeral came rushing back over me.
Monsieur Polk shook his head and thought a moment. "What about the doctor who first treated Gisselle for encephalitis?" he asked with some visible excitement. "He knew he was treating Gisselle and not Ruby, right?"
"I'm afraid we can't call on him," Beau said, deflating our balloon of hope. "I made an arrangement with him, and anyway, it would ruin him, wouldn't it? His being a part of this?"
"I'm afraid that's very true," Monsieur Polk said. "He put his name to fraud. Any of the servants we can call upon?"
"Well . . the way we worked it, the doctor and myself. . ."
"They didn't know what was happening exactly, is that it?"
"Yes. They wouldn't make the best witnesses anyway. The German couple don't speak English too well and my cook saw nothing. The maid is a timid woman who wouldn't be able to swear to anything."
"That's not an avenue to pursue, then." Monsieur Polk nodded. "Let me think. Bizarre, very bizarre. Dental records," he cried. "How are your teeth?"
"Perfect. I've never had a cavity or a tooth pulled."
"And Gisselle?"
"As far as I know," Beau said, "she was the same. She had remarkable health for someone with her lifestyle."
"Good genes," Monsieur Polk said. "But both of you had the benefit of the same genetic
advantages."
Was there no way to determine our identities to the satisfaction of a judge? I wondered frantically.
"What about our signatures?" I asked.
"Yes," Beau said. "Ruby always had a nicer handwriting."
"Handwriting is an exhibit to use," Monsieur Polk said with a bit of official-sounding nasality, "but it's not conclusive. We'll have to rely on the opinions of experts, and they might bring in their own expert who would develop the effectiveness of forgery. I've seen that happen before. Also," he said after another puff of his cigar, "people are inclined to believe that twins can imitate each other better. I'd like to have something more."
"What about Louis?" Beau asked me. "You said he recognized you."
"Louis?" Monsieur Polk asked.
"Louis was someone I met when Gisselle and I attended a private girls' school in Baton Rouge. He's a musician who recently had a concert here in New Orleans."
"I see."
"When I knew him, he was blind. But he sees now," I added, hopefully.
"What? Blind, you say? Really, monsieur," he said, turning to Beau. "You want me to put a man who was blind on the stand to testify he can tell the difference."
"But he can!" I said.
"Maybe to your satisfaction, but to a judge's?"
Another balloon deflated. My heart was thumping. Tears of frustration had begun to sting my eyes. Defeat seemed all around me.
