Keith now having rung the bell at Mr. Rimmon’s pleasant rectory and asked if he was at home, the servant said he would see.  It is astonishing how little servants in the city know of the movements of their employers.  How much better they must know their characters!

A moment later the servant returned.

“Yes, Mr. Rimmon is in.  He will be down directly; will the gentleman wait?”

Keith took his seat and inspected the books on the table—­a number of magazines, a large work on Exegesis, several volumes of poetry, the Social Register, and a society journal that contained the gossip and scandal of the town.

Presently Mr. Rimmon was heard descending the stair.  He had a light footfall, extraordinarily light in one so stout; for he had grown rounder with the years.

“Ah, Mr. Keith.  I believe we have met before.  What can I do for you?” He held Keith’s card in his hand, and was not only civil, but almost cordial.  But he did not ask Keith to sit down.

Keith said he had come to him hoping to obtain a little information which he was seeking for a friend.  He was almost certain that Mr. Rimmon could give it to him.

“Oh, yes.  Well?  I shall be very glad, I am sure, if I can be of service to you.  It is a part of our profession, you know.  What is it?”

“Why,” said Keith, “it is in regard to a marriage ceremony—­a marriage that took place in this city three or four years ago, about the middle of November three years ago.  I think you possibly performed the ceremony.”

“Yes, yes.  What are the names of the contracting parties?  You see, I solemnize a good many marriage ceremonies.  For some reason, a good many persons come to me.  My church is rather—­popular, you see.  I hate to have ‘fashionable’ applied to holy things.  I cannot tell without their names.”

“Why, of course,” said Keith, struck by the sudden assumption of a business manner.  “The parties were Ferdinand C. Wickersham and a young girl, named Euphronia Tripper.”

Keith was not consciously watching Mr. Rimmon, but the change in him was so remarkable that it astonished him.  His round jaw actually dropped for a second.  Keith knew instantly that he was the man.  His inquiry had struck home.  The next moment, however, Mr. Rimmon had recovered himself.  A single glance shot out of his eyes, so keen and suspicious that Keith was startled.  Then his eyes half closed again, veiling their flash of hostility.

“F.C.  Wickershaw and Euphronia Trimmer?” he repeated half aloud, shaking his head.  “No, I don’t remember any such names.  No, I never united in the bonds of matrimony any persons of those names.  I am quite positive.”  He spoke decisively.

“No, not Wicker_shaw_—­F.C.  Wicker_sham_ and Euphronia Tripper.  Ferdy Wickersham—­you know him.  And the girl was named Tripper; she might have called herself ‘Phrony’ Tripper.”

“My dear sir, I cannot undertake to remember the names of all the persons whom I happen to come in contact with in the performance of my sacred functions,” began Mr. Rimmon.  His voice had changed, and a certain querulousness had crept into it.