‘Yes, there is.’
These words fell upon the general ear like a bombshell, but no one was more utterly astounded by them than Mr. Samuel Erin himself. He could hardly believe his ears, and when he looked to the quarter from which they proceeded—and to which every one else was looking—he could not believe his eyes; for the man that had uttered them was Mr. Reginald Talbot.
The young man was not, indeed, in appearance quite the sort of witness whom one would have chosen to establish the authenticity of an ancient literary document; though at a police court, in some case of assault (provided the victim was respectable, and he had been for the prosecution), he might have been passable enough. His dress was that of a young man of fashion, but not of good fashion; his manner was suggestive less of confidence than of swagger, and his face spoke of indulgence in liquor. On the other hand, this impression may have been partly caused by his contrast with these learned pundits, most of them in wigs, and some of them in shovel hats; he scarcely seemed to belong to the same race. The very eye-glass, which headed the cane he carried so jauntily in his hand, was out of keeping with their eye-glasses, and looked like some gay young lens who had refused to be put into spectacles, and was winking at life on its own hook.
‘Does any one know this young gentleman?’ inquired Mr. Pye, with significant hesitation.
‘Yes, I know him,’ observed Mr. Albany Wallis. ‘I have, it is true, but slight acquaintance with his personal character, but he comes of respectable parentage.’
‘You may add that he has two hundred a year of his own, good money,’ observed Mr. Talbot with some complacency, and a strong Irish accent.
Mr. Pye looked at him very dubiously, and in spite of this assurance of his financial solvency, addressed himself to the previous speaker.
‘In the case before us, Mr. Wallis—and I need not say how your opinion will weigh with us,—do you consider this gentleman as a dependable witness?’
Mr. Reginald Talbot turned very red, and, not having a retort on hand suitable to bestow on a poet laureate, very wisely held his tongue.
‘I am bound to say,’ said Mr. Wallis gravely, ‘that Mr. Talbot has given some attention to the authenticity of the Shakespeare MSS., and up to this time he has expressed himself, and with somewhat unnecessary vehemence, to their discredit; any evidence he may therefore have to offer in their favour will have some weight with me.’