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 "Well, sir," the clerk smiled ingratiatingly. "We have the records of the whites as far back as Colonial days but those of the blacks are only of recent years. You know marriages among blacks got but little attention from our fathers in the old days. Hence those records are not completely kept, except as to slaves and their owners."

"May we see the records?" Elvin asked.

"Certainly, sir. They're kept in the basement. You may find the place dusty," the clerk explained apologetically. "It's been years since they've been used." As he spoke he was piloting the two to the basement of the courthouse and into the far regions off in the right hand corner. The basement was poorly lighted except for the oil lamps resurrected by the clerk and as they walked rats and mice were heard scampering from under the feet of the visitors, excited over the intrusion to what had been for years their unmolested domain.

As the men walked, in the dim light Marley and Elvin espied in front of them a large, mouldering, oaken door of a design, hand carved, no longer in architectural vogue. To this the clerk approached and from a bunch of disused keys selected a long rusted one and inserted it into the lock. As the key creaked its way into the lock the scampering of many more vermin feet could be heard. The lock turned with difficulty. After several attempts the lock yielded and the knob turned. The clerk placed his body against the door and it also yielded, though stubbornly. As it opened the long rusting hinges squeaked so sharply as to make the spine twist nervously. A gust