"And have you any proof, sir, that you are lord of Holwick?" he continued. Save for a few papers relating to the finding of the treasure I had none; even the title deeds, though close at hand, were not to be produced till the stream had been diverted; so I shook my head. Surely it was a pretty pass--a knight without a scrap of script to prove himself such! "Then, till you get authority from the sheriff I cannot allow you to tarry here," said the bailiff in a deferential yet decisive tone. "Then there remains but for me to journey to York," I replied. "How far lies the city?" "One hour’s ride by Fulford will bring you to Walmgate Bar. The sheriff, methinks, will be found at Clifford’s Tower." Ten minutes later Drake and I were spurring hotly towards York, Felgate, by reason of having but one jack boot and wet clothes, being compelled to stay behind, and before long the massive towers of the Minster showed above the skyline. So strong was our pace that in less than the hour our horses’ hoofs clattered under the archway of the Bar. On our being ushered into the presence of the sheriff, that worthy, a man of fierce and resolute aspect, curtly demanded our business. "Sir Aubrey Wentworth, forsooth," he cried, "and not a word in writing to prove your right! Nay, good sirs, I cannot grant you your desires on so weighty a matter with so light a claim. A person of repute must identify you." "But I know no man in the whole of Yorkshire!" I exclaimed, feeling the hopelessness of my position. "Then authority must be obtained from the King’s Court at St. James’s. I can say no more to you, Sir Aubrey, so I wish you good-day." His manner showed that the interview had ended, and, sick at heart, I left his presence, Drake offering me wasted yet well-meaning consolation. We walked slowly towards Petergate, where our steeds had been stabled. As we turned into that street an officer came swiftly round the corner, so that we ran violently against each other. In a moment I recognized him; he was none other than Ralph Slingsby, who brought the tidings of the Restoration to us at the "Flying Bull" at Rake on the same evening that my father was murdered. "Ah, Captain Slingsby!" I exclaimed. He eyed me with astonishment. "I know you not, young sir, and as for the captain, that is but a bygone handle to my name, for I am Colonel Ralph Slingsby at your service." Briefly I recalled the scene in the "Flying Bull". "Then you are Sir Owen Wentworth’s son?" he asked. I assented, and told him briefly of what had happened. "Back with me to the sheriff’s house," he said. "It would ill repay the friendship I owed your father if I did not render this slight service to his son. Young sir, I see now that you are the very image of your father when first I knew him." With Slingsby to aid us, the interview with the sheriff was of short duration, and, armed with a warrant, I left his presence in a far better mood than I was in an hour before.