‘Permit me, sir, to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Albany Wallis; a gentleman, like yourself, well versed in Shakespearean lore.’
‘Mr. Wallis’s name is not unknown to me,’ answered the antiquary coldly; ‘I have the pleasure of speaking to the late Mr. Garrick’s man of business, have I not?’
The visitor, a thin grey man, with sharp, intelligent features, by no means devoid of kindliness, bowed courteously.
‘I had that honour,’ he replied gravely; ‘I have also been acquainted all my life with many who take an interest in the drama, especially the Shakespearean drama. That some of them differ from you, Mr. Erin, on the subject on which I have called to-day, I am of course aware, but, believe me, I come in no unfriendly spirit. I take it for granted that you and I are equally interested in the establishment of the truth!’
‘It is to be hoped so,’ returned the antiquary, with dignity; ‘you would like, I conclude, to see the Profession.’
‘Well, no, sir, not immediately. You have other documents, as I am informed, in one of which I am more particularly concerned.’
‘Very good. Margaret, this is your affair, it seems,’ said the antiquary, smiling: it was a relief to his mind that the Profession at least was not about to be impugned. ‘Here is the key of the chest; bring out the Shakespeare letter and verses, with the lock of hair.’ For a moment or two Mr. Wallis remained silent. His eyes followed Margaret as she rose to obey her uncle’s request, with a curious look of gentle commiseration in them.
‘I did not know that this young lady had anything to do with these discoveries,’ he answered.
‘Nor has she, sir. The hair and the verses have become in a manner her own property, that is—er—under my trusteeship; but they were disinterred from a mass of ancient materials by my son here, William Henry.’