Yet sometimes she melted. Longtime family friend Zina Tolstoy came to visit Anderson while she was staying at the home of Russian emigres Baron and Baroness von Kleist. Careful not to prod, she made small talk with the young woman, then sat at a piano, plinking at the keys: "Do you play?" Anderson said she'd had lessons as a child but mostly, she and her siblings preferred to dance. At this, Tolstoy eased into a waltz her brother had written — one she'd often played for the Romanov children to dance to.

"The result was shattering," said Baroness von Kleist, in Kurth's reporting of the scene. Anderson lost all composure, collapsing into sobs on the sofa. Tolstoy began to cry herself, asking if she recognized the music. Anderson admitted she did, and the two women wept together. But this open-armed reception was a rare exception to the rule. And when it came to the closest royal family relations — those who could have redeemed her in an instant — she was more than aloof. She was enraged.

Inspector Franz Grünberg, the first officer to investigate Anderson's identity, convinced Princess Irene of Prussia to meet Anderson at his home, over dinner. Irene was the Tsarina's sister, Anastasia's aunt, and though surely she had hope to find her niece was still alive, she'd thus far been reluctant to engage in the Anderson affair. When at last she did, the evening was an unqualified disaster.

Irene arrived at Grünberg's home, and was introduced to Anderson with a false name (there had been no warning of her arrival). The two were seated across from each other at the dinner table, enabling Irene to inspect her alleged niece closely — she hadn't seen the Romanovs for a decade, after all. Halfway through the meal, Anderson, furious, bolted from the table. Irene went after her, peppering her with questions, demanding, "Don't you know I'm your Aunt Irene?" A tearful Anderson went silent, once again. Irene left the inspector's home, saying that no, this was not Anastasia. Irene was apparently so upset by the meeting that she forbade anyone in her home to speak of Anastasia again.

It was moments like this that galled Anderson's supporters. Why was she so unhelpful? So rude? "I was not rude," Anderson spat back. She was humiliated and bewildered. Why had her aunt given a false name? She hadn't seen the woman since she was a child, and while she'd recognized the voice at first, it took a moment before she realized who she was — and what was going on. Her aunt was not here to welcome her as family, but to inspect her as an impostor. Why had these alleged friends set her up for such a dreadful exercise?

For all that she could have gained, Anderson's own audacity and rancor made her the hostile witness in her own case. Indeed, it was only a matter of time before it went to trial.