"I shall do what I can to help you find her," he added.
"Thank you. I hope you may be successful."
"I hope so," said Wickersham, sincerely.
That evening Wickersham called on Mr. Rimmon, and the two were together for some time. The meeting was not wholly an amicable one. Wickersham demanded something that Mr. Rimmon was unwilling to comply with, though the former made him an offer at which his eyes glistened. He had offered to carry his stock for him as long as he wanted it carried. Mr. Rimmon showed him his register to satisfy him that no entry had been made there of the ceremony he had performed that night a few years before; but he was unwilling to write him a certificate that he had not performed such a ceremony. He was not willing to write a falsehood.
Wickersham grew angry.
"Now look here, Rimmon," he said, "you know perfectly well that I never meant to marry that--to marry any one. You know that I was drunk that night, and did not know what I was doing, and that what I did was out of kindness of heart to quiet the poor little fool."
"But you married her in the presence of a witness," said Mr. Rimmon, slowly. "And I gave him her certificate."
"You must have been mistaken. I have the affidavit of the man that he signed nothing of the kind. I give you my word of honor as to that. Write me the letter I want." He pushed the decanter on the table nearer to Rimmon, who poured out a drink and took it slowly. It appeared to give him courage, for after a moment he shook his head.
"I cannot."
Wickersham looked at him with level eyes.