The Duke of Hereward walked toward the detective officer.

“There is nothing more to be learned from the woman, at present, Setter.  We have already gained much, however, in the knowledge of the base calumny that drove the duchess from her home.  It is a relief to be assured that she has not fallen among London thieves.  She has probably gone abroad.  You must inquire, discreetly, at the London Bridge Railway Stations, for a young lady, in deep mourning, travelling alone, who bought a first-class ticket, on Tuesday evening.  There, Setter!  There is a mere outline of instructions.  You will fill it up as your discretion and experience may suggest,” concluded the duke, as he drew on his gloves.

“I would suggest, your grace, that we go to St. Margaret’s Old Church, where this strange marriage, in which they try to compromise you, is said to have taken place, and which is close by,” said the detective.

“By all means, let us go there and look at the register,” assented the duke.

They took leave of Mrs. Brown, and left the house.

Five minutes drive took them to Old St. Margaret’s.

They were fortunate as to the time.  The daily morning service was just over, and the curate who had officiated was still in the chancel.

The Duke of Hereward went in, and requested the young clergyman to favor him with a sight of the parish register.

The curate complied by inviting the two visitors to walk into the vestry.

He then placed two chairs at the green table, requested them to be seated, and laid before them the brass-bound volume recording the births, marriages and deaths of this populous, old parish.

The Duke of Hereward turned over the ponderous leaves until he came to the page he sought.

And there he found, duly registered, signed and witnessed, the marriage, by special license, of Archibald-Alexander-John Scott and Rose Cameron, both of Lone, Scotland.

“The mystery deepens,” said the duke as he pointed to the register.

“It is incomprehensible,” answered the detective.

“That is my name,” added the duke.

“Some imposter must have assumed it,” suggested the officer.

“Then the imposter, in taking my name, must have also taken my face and form, voice and manner, for though, upon my soul, I never married Rose Cameron, there are two honest women who are ready to swear that I did!” whispered the duke, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes; for there were moments when the absurdity of the situation overcame its gravity.

The duke then thanked the curate for his courtesy and left the church, attended by the detective.

“Where shall I tell the cabman to drive?” inquired Setter, as he held the door open after his employer had entered the cab.

“To Elmthorpe House, Kensington.  And then, get in here, with me, if you please, Mr. Setter.  I have something to say to you,” answered his grace.