"
"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.
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