Sadly the young man shook his head. The cold falsehood was heavier upon him than a blow from the old man’s fist would have been, yet it roused him to the point of blunt denial. Quite simply he set forth the true facts.
“The master gave me twenty pounds to attend a sale by auction at Loseby Grange, Saxmundham, and I bought things to the value of twenty pounds one and ninepence.”
In a voice which was a nice mingling of humour and pathos the old man interposed. “This picture, which I admit was bought for a song as the saying is, was among them.”
“No, sir,” said William, “I bought this picture with my own money from an old woman in a shop at Crowdham Market.”
So much for the issue, which now was quite clearly defined. Sir Arthur, however, could only regret that the supremely difficult task of keeping the scales of justice true had developed upon him.
“What did you pay for the picture, may I ask?”
“Five shillings,” said William, unhesitatingly.
“Five shillings!”
“It was as black as night when I bought it, sir, with a still life, which must have been at least two hundred years old daubed over it.”
“Black enough, I allow,” said the old man, “but it can’t alter the fact that the picture’s mine.”