"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