"Lord, what an ass!" Mr. Locket exclaimed.

"It will be one of the strangest post-mortem revelations of which
history preserves the record."

Mr. Locket, grave now, worried with a paper-knife the crevice of a
drawer. "It's very odd. But to be worth anything such documents
should be subjected to a searching criticism--I mean of the
historical kind."

"Certainly; that would be the task of the writer introducing them to
the public."

Again Mr. Locket considered; then with a smile he looked up. "You
had better give up original composition and take to buying old
furniture."

"Do you mean because it will pay better?"

"For you, I should think, original composition couldn't pay worse.
The creative faculty's so rare."

"I do feel tempted to turn my attention to real heroes," Peter
replied.

"I'm bound to declare that Sir Dominick Ferrand was never one of
mine. Flashy, crafty, second-rate--that's how I've always read him.
It was never a secret, moreover, that his private life had its weak
spots. He was a mere flash in the pan."