‘I should rather think there was,’ observed Mr. Reginald Talbot, with a snigger.
‘And who the devil asked your opinion?’ inquired Mr. Erin, with the eager shrillness of a steam boiler which has just discovered its safety-valve. He did not forget that it was to this young gentleman’s good offices that he was indebted for this unsatisfactory state of things.
‘Well, I thought it was a matter of criticism,’ murmured the young Irishman.
‘That was the very reason, sir, you should have held your tongue,’ was the uncompromising reply.
‘I really don’t know,’ observed William Henry, who had been idly turning over the leaves of the mortgage deed during this discussion, ‘why any bitterness should be imported into this discussion. We are all equally interested, as Mr. Wallis has remarked, in the establishment of the truth; and I, for my part, have nothing to fear from it. I am in no way responsible, as he must be aware, for the genuineness of the documents in question, but only for their discovery. What has happened to-day is no doubt as disagreeable as it is unlooked for; but it is no fault of mine. The only course open to me is, I suppose, to go to my friend in the Temple and acquaint him with what has happened. Perhaps he may have some explanation to offer upon the subject.’
‘I should very much like to hear it,’ said Mr. Wallis, with a dry smile.
Mr. Reginald Talbot also began to smile—aloud, but he caught Mr. Frank Dennis’s eye, which had so unmistakably menacing an expression in it that the snigger perished in its birth.
‘Shall I go, father?’ inquired William Henry. For the antiquary sat like one in a dream, turning over the note of hand, once so precious to him, but which had now become waste paper.
‘Yes, go! We will wait here till you come back,’ he answered.