What could I do?
While I was thus perplexing myself with vain imaginings, the recollection of the Dashers occurred to my mind.

How was it that I had not thought of them before, when they were the very people for my purpose?
Why, not a soul could come into Saint Canon's parish without their knowledge, and a fresh face in church would set them at once on the qui vive.

The Dashers, of course, must have seen my unknown ladies, and would be able to give me more information concerning them than I could expect from any one else.

I had often heard three to one betted, with no "takers," that they would tell you everything about any particular person, his, or her, antecedents, prospects, and position, who had but remained for ten consecutive minutes within a radius of one mile of their house.

To the Dashers I would consequently go, by all means--thank Providence for the suggestion, and their existence! Lady Dasher, the head of this all-wise circle, was the youngest daughter of a deceased Irish peer, whom she was continually bringing on the carpet, and causing--unhappy ghost that he was--to retrace his weary way from wherever the spirits of defunct Hibernian nobles most do congregate.
She did not do this through family pride, or with any boastful intention, but simply from sheer morbidity.