“Oh dear me, there’s no question about that.”
“Very well. Send for him at once; there will be no harm in hearing what he says. Send for him, Jakyl.”
And with these words Lord Ethalwood returned to his laboratory.
Peace, who was at work at his shop in Dennet’s-lane, was surprised to receive a message from the Hall, commanding his immediate attendance, upon a matter of urgent business.
He put on his best attire and presented himself at Broxbridge.
He was at once taken into the picture-gallery by the prudent and well-behaved Mr. Jakyl.
Mr. Peace made a careful examination of the picture.
“It’s all to pieces,” he observed to the butler, “and if you attempt to move it it will crumble into dust. I never saw anything so gone. The wood on which it is painted is literally powder. It will require all my skill to make a job of it.”
“Do you think you can restore it? Don’t undertake it unless you see your way clear, for I must tell you frankly that his lordship sets more store by this than anything else in the whole establishment.”
“If I can’t do it, nobody can,” returned Peace; “but don’t let me get you into trouble. If you have no confidence in me send to London.”