‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think we may say with certainty this is a glove of late sixteenth- or early seventeenth-century workmanship. It has, at some time, been exposed to saltwater but not extensively. One might surmise that it was protected. The little desk is very much stained. Upon the letters H. S. inside the gauntlet I am unable to give an authoritative opinion but could, of course, obtain one. As for these two, really rather startling documents: they can be examined and submitted to a number of tests – infra red, spectography and so on – not in my province, you know. If they’ve been concocted it will certainly be discovered.’

‘Would you tell me how I can get the full treatment for them?’

‘Oh, I think we could arrange that, you know. But we would want written permission from the owner, full insurance and so on. You’ve told me nothing, so far, of the history, have you?’

‘No,’ Peregrine said. ‘But I will. With this proviso, if you don’t mind: the owner, or rather his solicitor on his behalf, has given me permission to disclose his name to you on your undertaking to keep it to yourself until you have come to a conclusion about these things. He has a – an almost morbid dread of publicity which you’ll understand, I think, when you learn who he is.’

The expert looked very steadily at Peregrine. After a considerable silence he said: ‘Very well. I am prepared to treat the matter confidentially as far as your principal’s name is concerned.’

‘He is Mr Vassily Conducis.’

‘Good God.’

‘Quite,’ said Peregrine, doing a Greenslade. ‘I shall now tell you as much as is known of the history. Here goes.’

And he did in considerable detail.

The expert listened in a startled manner.

‘Really, very odd,’ he said when Peregrine had finished.

‘I assure you I’m not making it up.’

‘No, no. I’m sure. I’ve heard of Conducis, of course. Who hasn’t? You do realize what a – what a really flabbergasting thing this would be if it turned out to be genuine?’

‘I can think of nothing else. I mean: there they lie – a child’s glove and a letter asking one to suppose that on a summer’s morning in the year 1596 a master-craftsman of Stratford made a pair of gloves and gave them to his grandson who wore them for a day and then –’

‘Grief filled the room up of an absent child?’