While he was thus engaged, an elderly, portly personage, wearing a
tricolour sash which was just visible under his waistcoat, came out
from the inner room, and, taking up the passport, looked at it, and
then at Hyde.
"Is that your name? Yes? It is different," he went on, audibly, but to
himself, "although the description tallies. You are an English
officer, domiciled at the Hotel Imperial, Boulevard de la Madeleine. I
do not quite understand."
"Surely it is only a simple matter!" pleaded Hyde. "Monsieur, I seek a
marriage certificate."
"For what purpose?"
"As a claim for an inheritance."
"Nothing more, eh!" said the Mayor, suspiciously. "Have you any one,
any friend, who will answer for you, here?"
"No one nearer than the British Embassy, except--to be sure--" he
suddenly thought of Anatole, who still waited outside, and who came in
at the summons of his friend.
"Oh, you are with Monsieur?" The official's face brightened the moment
he saw Anatole. "It is all right, then. Give the gentleman the
certificate. This friend"--he laid the slightest stress on the
word--"will be answerable for him, of course."
"Now, Anatole, tell me what all this means," said Hyde, as he left the
Mairie with the document he deemed of so much importance in his
pocket.
"Not here," said the Frenchman, looking over his shoulder, nervously.
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