“Then will you two gentlemen agree to be my executors?”
“Really, sir, I—”
“Because no man could have a more careful pair.”
“You are complimentary, sir. Doctor Lawrence and I are only doing our duty.”
“Of course, of course. Well, gentlemen, I’ve shown you my grandfather’s letters, etcetera, and I am George Harrington. That’s all I have got to say.”
“But—you’ll excuse me. We are rather awkwardly placed. We ought to have some other proof of your identity. My dear Miss Gertrude, have we any of Mr George Harrington’s letters?”
“I think there are some among my guardian’s papers.”
“Stop a moment—I forgot. Here’s my watch, with my initials engraved upon the case, and to be sure—why, what a dunderhead I am!”
Saul, who had been undergoing a torture of change—doubt and hope—watched the young man’s actions as he passed his hands behind his neck, and for a few moments seemed to be trying to unfasten something.
“That’s it,” he said, as he undid the clasp of a thin gold chain, and drew out chain and locket, both gold, and pressing a spring at either end, the locket flew open back and front, to display two daguerreotype heads. “Know them Mr—Mr—”