of paper? It might be a letter; he did
not know whence it had come, nor whose it was, and he certainly did not
wish to be guilty of opening someone else's letter. He even went so far
as to put it solemnly on the table, like a skipper on whose deck the
phantom whale-boat of the _Flying Dutchman_ has deposited a packet of
mails. After a few minutes, however, he appreciated the absurdity of
the situation, and with an effort unfolded the mysterious missive.

It was a long narrow piece of paper, yellowed with years, and lined with
the creases of a generation; and had on it both printed and written
characters. He recognised it instantly for a certificate of marriage--
those "marriage lines" on which so often hang both the law and the
prophets. There it was with all the little pigeon-holes duly filled in,
and set forth how that on "March 15, 1800, at the Church of Saint Medard
Within, one Horatio Sebastian Fynes, bachelor, aged twenty-one, son of
Horatio Sebastian Fynes, gentleman, was married to one Sophia Flannery,
spinster, aged twenty-one, daughter of James Flannery, merchant," with
witnesses duly attesting. And underneath an ill-formed straggling hand
had added a superscription in ink that was now brown and wasted: "Martin
born January 2, 1801, at ten minutes past twelve, night." He laid it on
the table and folded it out flat, and knew that he had under his eyes
that certificate of the first marriage (of the only true marriage) of
Martin's mother, which Martin had longed all his life to see, and had
not seen; that patent of legitimacy which Martin thought he had within
his grasp when death overtook him, that clue which Sharnall thought that
he had within his grasp when death overtook him also.

On March 15, 1800, Sophia Flannery was married by special licence to
Horatio Sebastian Fynes, gentleman, and on January 2, 1801, at ten
minutes past twelve, night, Martin was born. Horatio Sebastian--the
names were familiar enough to Westray. Who was this Horatio Sebastian
Fynes, son of Horatio Sebastian Fynes, gentleman? It was only a formal
question that he asked himself, for he knew the answer very well. This
document that he had before him might be no legal proof, but not all the
lawyers in Christendom could change his conviction, his intuition, that
the "gentleman" Sophia Flannery had married was none other than the
octogenarian Lord Blandamer deceased three years ago. There was to his
eyes an air of authenticity