ister of births for 1876. It
was not a large book, for the births at Etretat are not overwhelming
in number.

"The name, I think you said, was Holladay?" he asked.

"Hiram W. Holladay," nodded Mr. Royce.

"And the date June 10th?"

"Yes--June 10th."

The little man ran his finger rapidly down the page, then went back
again and read the entries one by one more slowly, with a pucker of
perplexity about his lips. He turned the leaf, began farther back, and
read through the list again, while we sat watching him. At last he
shut the book with a little snap and looked up at us.

"Messieurs," he said quietly, "no such birth is recorded here. I have
examined the record for the months of May, June, and July."

"But it must be there!" protested Mr. Royce.

"Nevertheless it is not here, monsieur."

"Could the child have been born here and no record made of it?"

"Impossible, monsieur. No physician in France would take that
responsibility."

"For a large fee, perhaps," suggested my companion.

"In Paris that may, sometimes, be possible. But in a small place like
this, I should have heard of it, and it would have been my duty to
investigate."

"You have been here for that length of time, then?"

"Oh, yes, monsieur," smiled the little man. "For a much longer time
than that."

Mr. Royce leaned forward toward him. He was getting back all his old
power as a cross-examiner.

"Monsieur Fingret," he began impressively, "I am quite certain that
Hiram W. Holladay and his wife were here during the months of May,
June, and July, 1876, and that while they were here a daughter was
born to them. Think again--have you no recollection of them or of the
event?"

The little notary sat for some moments with knitted brows. At last he
shook his head.

"That would be the height of the season, you see, monsieur," he said
apologetically. "There are a great many people here, at that time, and
I cannot know all of them. Nevertheless, it seemed to me for a moment
that there was about the name a certain familiarity--as of an old
tune, you know, forgotten for years. Yet it must have been my fancy
merely, for I have no recollection of the event you mention. I cannot
believe that such a birth took place at Etretat."

There was one other chance, and I gave Mr. Royce the clew.

"Monsieur Fingret," he asked, "are you acquainted with a man by the
name of Pierre Bethune?"

And again the notary shook his head.

"Or Jasper Martigny?"

"I