"Pastor of their church—First Presbyterian—that big church just down the street yonder. They've been great pets of his."
"He was to have performed the ceremony?"
"Sure. They wouldn't have had anybody else. Nice old fellow, too. Besides, he's been their pastor for years."
Here was the source I had been looking for—the source from which I might draw detailed and accurate information, if I could only reach it.
"I suppose that house next to the church is the parsonage," I ventured. I had never seen the church, but it seemed a safe shot.
"Yes; the one this side of it."
I nodded.
"I thought so. Thank you for giving me the package," I added, and glanced at my watch and rose.
"Oh, that's all right, sir," he answered, and turned away to his desk.
As for me, I lost no time in starting out upon my errand. I would see Dr. Schuyler—I would put the case before him, and ask his help. It was nearly eight o'clock, doubtless well past his dinner hour, and I resolved to seek the interview at once.