"The marriage took place at a place called The Hague," said the old dame with downcast eyes, "away across the sea in that outlandish country called Holland. It was performed in secret by a Papist priest. The priest had to swear that he would never reveal the marriage, nevertheless my daughter Lucy, for the sake of her good name, so cajoled the priest that he drew up the contract and gave it to her, unknown to the king. For fear it should be taken from her she determined to place it in safe keeping." At this the woman ceased speaking, while I, who had been waiting for some news which would give me something like a reason for action, felt as though she were conjuring up a story. "This showed," she went on presently, "that my daughter was not foolish as some have said, neither was she careless of her good name." "But to whom did she give this precious document?" I asked, "and where is it now?" "She gave it one in whom she trusted," said the dame sourly. "But he betrayed her trust. He found out the value of the paper, and brought it to England. Since then it hath changed hands again; but Katharine Harcomb hath discovered where it is now." "Where?" I asked eagerly. "It is at the house of Master Elijah Pycroft, who lives within five miles of Folkestone town," said Katharine Harcomb. "How do you know?" I asked. "I have been told by one who knows," she replied mysteriously. "And who is Master Elijah Pycroft?" I asked again, for the whole business seemed to be as unsubstantial as a vapour cloud. "Ah, it is easy to tell you who he is, but difficult to say what he is," replied the woman. "But there be many stories told about him. Some say he hath sold himself to the devil, others that he is at the head of a gang of highwaymen, and that although he never appears among them, it is he who gives them information and shelters them when they are in danger. I have also been told that he is a Papist who is a servant of the Pope, and is plotting to bring England back to Popery again. But it is he who hath the contract, and it is he who will make use of it, if it be not taken from him. Some have it that the priest who married Lucy Walters to King Charles is in league with him." Now this seemed to be a cock-and-bull story, and yet it had enough of meaning to set my nerves a-tingling again. "What is the name of the priest?" I asked. "Is his home at The Hague? Because he is the man to find out first of all. If he confesses to the marriage, then----" "Do you dare to doubt that my Lucy was a lawful wedded wife?" cried the old dame angrily. "She that is dead now, poor child. Why think ye that the young King's mother, the old dowager queen, would have taken the boy if there was no marriage?" "Still it would be well to find him out," I urged. "Do you know his name?"