’Another time, Mr. Battishill. Just at present we must examine the desk, and see if we can find any clue to the family of Mr. Strange.’ ’To be sure, to be sure,’ said Mr. Battishill, returning to his chair. ’You drew me off our business. Open the box and get the matter over.’ Herring was trying the keys. Before he had found the right key, Mr. Battishill put his hand on the bunch and said, ’By the way, before we go on with our inquiry, tell me, do you belong to the Herrings of Codrington?’ ’I did not know there were Herrings there.’ ’No; I do not mean now. In 1620 Hugh Manning, of Newton Bushell, married Elizabeth, daughter of John Herring, of Codrington, in Devon; so it stands in the Visitation, under the Manning pedigree. I do not think much of your family not appearing in that Visitation, as some good Devon families just emerging from the yeoman class, or not caring to appear at the court of the heralds, are left unregistered. It was so in this parish. Neither the Oxenhams nor the Northmores appeared, and yet they held lands here from time immemorial.’ ’Had we not better seek out the Strange family, instead of exploring the past of the Herrings? The latter will keep.’ ’You are right, quite right, my young friend. Good Lord, what pertinacity you have. It is like that of a ferret hanging on to a rat. Open the desk.’ The desk contained a considerable number of papers, almost all connected with business, and in a foreign language—Portuguese—which Herring could not read. Mr. Battishill leaned back in his chair and looked before him out of the hall window, lost in his meditations. He muttered something impatiently. ’I beg your pardon,’ said Herring, looking up. ’Did you address me?’ ’I?—no,’ answered Mr. Battishill. ’I merely said, Damn old Tramplara!’ Herring resumed his examination. ’The scoundrel has his claws in my neck, and the mischief is he is dragging more than myself down. There is poor Cicely as well.’ ’Can you decipher these letters?’ asked Herring, holding out a couple of papers to the old gentleman; ’they are written either in Spanish, Italian, or Portuguese.’ ’I cannot say. My knowledge is limited. "Ignorance is the curse of God, knowledge the wing whereby we fly to heaven." I once read Latin, but that was long ago. I may remember a few words of French. "Dieu et mon droit," that means "God and my right." "Honi soit qui mal y pense," that means something about the Duchess of Gloucester’s garter. No, this is Chinese to me. "There is no darkness but ignorance."’ ’Hold!’ exclaimed Herring; ’here is his will. Shall we look at it?’ ’By all means. No other document is so likely to help you to what you want to discover. Give it to me.’