This was found to be the case. The picture of Gervase Lord Ethalwood was in such a decayed state that the panel on which that marvellous man had been painted was like touchwood, which had been so worm-eaten that it threatened to tumble to pieces.
“I dare not touch it, my lord,” said Mr. Jakyl, in evident concern.
“The only wonder is that it should have hung so long in its position. How long has it been painted, my lord?”
“More than three centuries. What do you propose to do? Send up to London. Telegraph at once to a frame-maker to come immediately. I would not have the painting injured by unskilful treatment, not on any account.”
“Send to London?” repeated the butler.
“Of course, that will be the best plan.”
A bright idea occurred to the butler, who said in a half apologetic tone, “We have a very clever young man from London working in the neighbourhood, who, I think, would be able to make a good job of it.”
“What is he, and who is he?”
“He’s in the picture line, my lord and is very clever, so I’m told. His name is Peace.”
“Do you think he is a skilful workman?”