FullReads

But the Canon’s speech tailed off as he regarded the torn pieces of cardboard in his hand. He felt that the others had been seriously perturbed and were not listening: he himself was conscious of a shock too serious for that glib emollient–usually so efficacious–the sound of his own voice. He perceived that it did not impose even on the photographer. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room.

Sir Felix was the first to recover. “Put it in the waste-paper basket: no, in the fire!” he commanded, and turned to Smithers. “Surely between these two extremes–“

“I was on the point of suggesting that your Worships would find No. 3 more satisfactory,” the photographer interrupted, forgetting his manners in his anxiety to restore these three gentlemen to their ease. His own discomfort was acute, and he overacted, as a man will who has unwittingly surprised a State secret and wishes to assure everyone of his obtuseness.

Sir Felix studied No. 3. “This appears to me a very ordinary photograph. Without being positively displeasing, the face is one you might pass in the street any day, and forget.”

“I hope it suggests no–no well-known features?” put in the Canon nervously.

“None at all, I think: but see for yourself. To me it seems–although hazy, of course–the kind of thing the Home Office might find helpful.”

“It is less distinct than the others.” The Admiral pulled his whiskers.

“And for that reason the more obviously composite–which is what we are required to furnish. No, indeed, I can find nothing amiss with it, and I think, gentlemen, if you are agreed, we will forward this print.”

No. 3 was passed accordingly, the photographer withdrew, and the three Justices turned to other business, which occupied them for a full two hours.

But, I pray you, mark the sequel.

Mr. Smithers, in his relief and delight at the Magistrates’ approbation, hurried home, fished out a copy of No. 3, exposed it proudly in his shop window, and went off to the Packhorse Inn for a drink.

Less than an hour later, Mrs. Trewbody, having packed her family into the jingle for their afternoon’s ride with Miss Platt, the governess, strolled down into the town to do some light shopping; and, happening to pass the photographer’s window, came to a standstill with a little gasp.

A moment later she entered the shop; and Mrs. Smithers, answering the shop bell, found that she had taken the photograph from the window and was examining it eagerly.

“This is quite a surprise, Mrs. Smithers. A capital photograph! May I ask how many copies my husband ordered?”

“I’m not aware, ma’am, that the Admiral has ordered any as yet; though I heard Smithers say only this morning as he hoped he’d be pleased with it.”

“I think I can answer for that, although he is particular. But I happen to know he disapproves of these things being exposed in the window. I’ll take this copy home with me, if I may. Has your husband printed any more?”

“Well no, ma’am. There was one other copy; but Lady Felix-Williams happened to be passing just now, and spied it, and nothing would do but she must take it away with her.”

“Lady Felix-Williams?” Mrs. Trewbody stiffened with sudden distrust. “Now, what would Lady Felix-Williams want with this?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell you, ma’am: but she was delighted. ‘A capital likeness,’ she said; ‘I’ve never seen a photograph before that caught just that expression of his.'”

“I should very much like to know what she has to do with his expression,” Mrs. Trewbody murmured to herself, between wonder and incipient alarm. But she concealed her feelings, good lady; and, having paid for her purchase, carried it home in her muff and stuck it upright against one of the Sevres candlesticks on her boudoir mantel-shelf.

And there the Admiral discovered it three-quarters of an hour later. He came home wanting his tea; and, finding the boudoir empty, advanced to ring the bell. At that moment his eyes fell on Smithers’ replica of the very photograph he had passed for furtherance to the Home Secretary. He picked it up and gave vent to a long whistle.

“Now, how the dickens–“

His wife appeared in the doorway, with Harry, Dicky, and Theophila clinging to her skirts, fresh from their ride, and boisterous.

“My dear Emily, where in the world did you get hold of this?”

He held the photograph towards her at arm’s length, and the children rushed forward to examine it.

“Papa! papa!” they shouted together, capering around it. “Oh, mammy, isn’t it him exactly?”