‘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.’ Mr. Wallis turned his face on the young gentleman thus alluded to much as a policeman flashes his dark-lantern on a suspected stranger. There was no commiseration in it now; it was a keen, and even a hostile glance. ‘I see; but besides the reputed epistle to Anne Hathaway, there was, I think, a note of hand purporting to be written to Shakespeare from John Hemynge.’ ‘I don’t know as to “reputed” and “purporting,” sir,’ returned the antiquary stiffly, ‘which are adjectives not usually applied to documents professedly genuine, at all events under the roof of their possessor.’ ‘You are right; I beg your pardon, Mr. Erin,’ put in the visitor apologetically. ‘One has no right to prejudge a case of which one has only heard an _ex-parte_ statement. It is, however, that particular document which I ask to look at; a gentleman upon whose word I can rely has seen it, and assures me that the signature of John Hemynge appended to the receipt is—not to mince matters—a forgery.’ The antiquary started to his feet. ‘Do you come here to insult me, sir?’ he inquired angrily. ‘No, Mr. Erin, far from it,’ returned the other firmly. ‘No one would be better pleased both on your own account and on that of those belonging to you’—here his eye lit once more on Margaret, who had flushed to her forehead—‘if I should find my informant mistaken. But the fact is, I possess a deed with the authentic and undoubted signature of John Hemynge, which my friend, who has seen both of them, assures me is wholly different from that attached to this new-found document. Assertion, however, as you may reasonably reply, is out of place in this matter. The question is merely one of comparison. Have you any objection to my applying that test?’ ‘Most certainly not, sir. Margaret, this gentleman wishes to see the note of hand.’ Margaret brought it from the iron safe and gave it to Mr. Wallis. Her face still retained some trace of indignation, and her eyes met those of the visitor with resolution and even defiance.