After a short discussion, during which the elder lady carried all before her, it was settled that Geoffrey was to start at once; so he quickly bolted his breakfast, and within half-an-hour was speeding up to London as fast as an express could take him. Thinking it better to consult some older head, he drove from Waterloo Station to Wessex Gardens, where Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew, Sir Reginald’s first cousins, lived. The Honorable Mark and his wife were at luncheon when Geoffrey entered, and without any beating about the bush bluntly told his errand. They examined the certificate with the greatest incredulity, and laughed at the idea of “Rex” of all people committing bigamy, “he so upright, so honourable, a man of stainless character, who had never been known to make a love affair in his life till he met Alice,” they chimed alternately. “The idea was really too absurd; they wondered Geoffrey could lend himself to such a wild-goose chase.” Nevertheless there was the certificate, “and just to show that it is a forgery and to relieve Miss Fane’s mind, you and Geoff will take it to some respectable solicitors and quietly ask their opinion,” said Mr. Mayhew. So they took it to Bagge and Keepe, an intensely correct firm; and Mr. Bagge, after carefully scrutinising the certificate for some seconds, unhesitatingly pronounced it to be a genuine copy, and swore to the handwriting of the Rev. Hugh Parry, who had been one of their clients for years. “I can show you any number of his letters, and you can judge for yourselves, gentlemen,” he added, preparing to open a brown japanned box, on which “R. and H. Parry” was emblazoned in large white characters. The little hatchet-faced lawyer, with his penetrating gray eyes and mutton-chop whiskers, seemed so perfectly confident of the identity of the signature and the truth of the certificate, that Mr. Mayhew’s breath was, metaphorically speaking, quite taken away, and he gazed from him to Geoffrey--whose visage had visibly lengthened--with an air of utter stupefaction. His moral equilibrium was completely shaken, as he glanced from Mr. Bagge to the deed-box, from the deed-box to Geoffrey, from Geoffrey to the long slip of white paper--the cause of all the mischief--that lay on the green baize table before his eyes. He pushed his hat well to the back of his head, scratched his grizzly locks, and obviously obtained some kind of mental inspiration, for at last he found words: “It is of no consequence at present, Mr. Bagge. I’m much obliged to you all the same. And--a--you are quite certain of this”--flourishing the certificate--“being Mr. Parry’s signature?” “Quite certain. You can compare it yourself. Hancock,”--to a clerk--“just reach down----”