“It isn’t another hand”—oh Hugh was quite positive. “It’s the hand of the very same painter.”
“How can you prove it’s the same?”
“Only by the most intimate internal evidence, I admit—and evidence that of course has to be estimated.”
“Then who,” Lord Theign asked, “is to estimate it?”
“Well,”—Hugh was all ready—“will you let Pap-pendick, one of the first authorities in Europe, a good friend of mine, in fact more or less my master, and who is generally to be found at Brussels? I happen to know he knows your picture—he once spoke to me of it; and he’ll go and look again at the Verona one, he’ll go and judge our issue, if I apply to him, in the light of certain new tips that I shall be able to give him.”
Lord Theign appeared to wonder. “If you ‘apply’ to him?”
“Like a shot, I believe, if I ask it of him—as a service.”
“A service to you? He’ll be very obliging,” his lordship smiled.
“Well, I’ve obliged him!” Hugh readily retorted.
“The obligation will be to we”—Lord Theign spoke more formally.