Before he ate his cold beef, Bryce had copied the entry from the reprinted register, and had satisfied himself that Ransford was not a name known to that village--Mark Ransford was the only person of the name mentioned in the register. And his lunch done, he set off for the vicarage again, intent on getting further information, and before he reached the vicarage gates noticed, by accident, a place whereat he was more likely to get it than from the vicar--who was a youngish man. At the end of the few houses between the inn and the bridge he saw a little shop with the name Charles Claybourne painted roughly above its open window. In that open window sat an old, cheery-faced man, mending shoes, who blinked at the stranger through his big spectacles. Bryce saw his chance and turned in--to open the book and point out the marriage entry. “Are you the Charles Claybourne mentioned there?” he asked, without ceremony. “That's me, sir!” replied the old shoemaker briskly, after a glance. “Yes--right enough!” “How came you to witness that marriage?” inquired Bryce. The old man nodded at the church across the way. “I've been sexton and parish clerk two-and-thirty years, sir,” he said. “And I took it on from my father--and he had the job from his father.” “Do you remember this marriage?” asked Bryce, perching himself on the bench at which the shoemaker was working. “Twenty-two years since, I see.” “Aye, as if it was yesterday!” answered the old man with a smile. “Miss Bewery's marriage?--why, of course!” “Who was she?” demanded Bryce. “Governess at the vicarage,” replied Claybourne. “Nice, sweet young lady.” “And the man she married?--Mr. Brake,” continued Bryce. “Who was he?” “A young gentleman that used to come here for the fishing, now and then,” answered Claybourne, pointing at the river. “Famous for our trout we are here, you know, sir. And Brake had come here for three years before they were married--him and his friend Mr. Ransford.” “You remember him, too?” asked Bryce. “Remember both of 'em very well indeed,” said Claybourne, “though I never set eyes on either after Miss Mary was wed to Mr. Brake. But I saw plenty of 'em both before that. They used to put up at the inn there--that I saw you come out of just now. They came two or three times a year--and they were a bit thick with our parson of that time--not this one: his predecessor--and they used to go up to the vicarage and smoke their pipes and cigars with him--and of course, Mr. Brake and the governess fixed it up. Though, you know, at one time it was considered it was going to be her and the other young gentleman, Mr. Ransford--yes! But, in the end, it was Brake--and Ransford stood best man for him.” Bruce assimilated all this information greedily--and asked for more. “I'm interested in that entry,” he said, tapping the open book. “I know some people of the name of Bewery--they may be relatives.” The shoemaker shook his head as if doubtful.