that it is scarcely possible either parson or clerk could prove that Violet Dalston was married to Sir Harry Compton.  A very intelligent fellow is Bilston:  he was present at the marriage, you remember; and a glorious witness, if he had only something of importance to depose to; powdered hair and a pigtail, double chin, and six feet in girth at least; highly respectable—­capital witness, very—­only, unfortunately, he can only testify that a person calling himself Grainger married Violet Dalston; not much in that!”

“So, then, your three weeks’ labor has been entirely thrown away!”

“Not so fast—­not so fast—­you jump too hastily at conclusions.  The Cumberland fellow that sold Grainger the house—­only the equity of redemption of it, by the way—­there’s a large mortgage on it—­can prove nothing.  Nobody about there can, except the surgeon; he can prove Mrs. Grainger’s accouchement—­that is something.  I have been killing myself every evening this last week with grog and tobacco smoke at the “Compton Arms,” in the company of the castle servants, and if the calves’ heads had known anything essential, I fancy I should have wormed it out of them.  They have, however, kindly furnished me with a scrawl of introduction to the establishment now in town, some of whom I shall have the honor to meet, in the character of an out-and-out liberal sporting gentleman, at the “Albemarle Arms” this evening.  I want to get hold of his confidential valet, if he had one—­those go-a-head fellows generally have—­a Swiss, or some other foreign animal.”

“Is this all?”

“Why, no,” rejoined Ferret, with a sharp twinkle of his sharp gray eye, amounting almost to a wink; “there is one circumstance which I cannot help thinking, though I scarcely know why, will put us, by the help of patience and perseverance, on the right track.  In a corner of the registry of marriage there is written Z.Z. in bold letters.  In no other part of the book does this occur.  What may that mean?”

“Had the incumbent of the living a curate at the time?”

“No.  On that point I am unfortunately too well satisfied.  Neither are there any names with such initials in any of the Leeds churchyards.  Still this Z.Z. may be of importance, if we could but discover who he is.  But how?—­that is the question.  Advertise?  Show our hands to the opposite players, and find if Z.Z. is really an entity, and likely to be of service, that when we want him in court, he is half way to America.  No, no; that would never do.”

Mr. Ferret I saw was getting into a brown study; and as I had pressing business to despatch, I got rid of him as speedily as I could, quite satisfied, spite of Z.Z., that Mrs. Grainger’s chance of becoming Lady Compton was about equal to mine of ascending the British throne some fine day.

Two days afterwards I received the following note:—­

“Dear Sir—­Z.Z. is the man!  I’m off to Shropshire.  Back, if possible, the day after to-morrow.  Not a word even to the ladies.  Huzza!  In haste, Samuel Ferret.”