“Of course, we shall be glad to do anything we can,” was the reply, given without effusion. “Penteffan was the name of my great-grandfather’s place, certainly. We have a picture of it—‘The Seat of Constantine Teffany, Esq.’ Will you come down with me next week, and look over the papers with my sister—if you are not afraid of the flu.?”
“No, no; I have paid toll to the devil,” replied the Professor hurriedly. His hearer interpreted the somewhat startling assertion correctly as referring to the influenza-fiend, and they proceeded to discuss ways and means. It was settled at last that Maurice should go home the next week, as he had intended, and obtain the papers of which his lawyer had charge, and that the Professor, who was to receive an honorary degree from the University, should follow as soon as possible, when they would go through the documents together.
* * * * * * *
“Maurice, an awful blow!” Zoe Teffany sprang up to meet her brother as he put his head in at the door of the library where she was at work. “I believe our name is really Smith!”
“That’s cheerful. What makes you think so?”
“Why, I was tidying the top shelves of the bookcases, and I found a lot of grandpapa’s old schoolbooks, and every one of them had ‘C. Smith’ or ‘Constantine Smith’ inside. Then I remembered those old letters of great-grandmamma’s—about buying this place, you know—and when I looked at them they were all addressed to ‘Mrs Smith.’ The address was written in the middle of one side of the paper, in the old way—there were no envelopes—and I had not noticed it when I saw them before.”
“What a frightful sell for Professor Panagiotis!” chuckled Maurice. “Shall we wire, and put the old fellow out of his misery?”
“Oh no, no! Why, it mayn’t be true; we’ll hope it isn’t. I have been looking at everything else I can think of, to try and be certain one way or the other, and I can only find the name Smith just when grandpapa was a boy. His parents were Teffany before he was born, and we know he was Teffany when we knew him. What can it mean?”
“Well, since he was a small boy at school when he called himself Smith, it can hardly mean that he had done something and was in hiding. There’s one piece of comfort for you, at any rate. But I tell you what, I’ll ask old Lake, when I ride over to-morrow to get the papers. He ought to know, if any one does.”
“Oh, do; and be sure and hurry back. I shall be dying to know. I hope there’s some romantic reason, at any rate. Smith is such a terribly unromantic name. Couldn’t you go to-day?”