“That is all right, then,” said the bearer of the parcel with an air of relief, “because it happens that this is the work of the greatest poet in the world.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Tovey with a very well-bred air.
The bearer of the parcel repeated his assertion.
“Is not that a somewhat comprehensive claim to advance on behalf of a living person?” said Mr. Tovey, enunciating his words very delicately.
“Well, he seems to think so, at any rate,” said the bearer of the parcel, “and I suppose he ought to know.”
“Would you mind informing me of the name of this accomplished person?” said Mr. Tovey, with an effective combination of polite interest and equally polite deprecation.
“His name is to be kept a secret,” said the bearer of the parcel. “He doesn’t want it to be known.”
“I assume that his poems have been published?” said Mr. Tovey.
“Not yet,” said the bearer of the parcel; “but,” he added, with an air of weight that was not without its effect, “they are going to be published by Crumpett and Hawker on the twelfth of January.”
“Curious, curious,” said Mr. Tovey.