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Updated: June 12, 2025
I fancy Henson had a copy made for emergencies. It was he who sent the copy to Claire, and it was the copy that Littimer saw on her hand. You see, directly Frank broke open that safe, Henson, who was at the castle at the time, saw his opportunity he could easily scheme some way of making use of it. If that plot against Frank had failed he would have invented another.
When Mr. Henson handed him the 'Address to the Public, with the 'Sonnet to the Setting Sun' on the other side, both neatly corrected and printed in large type, he was beside himself for joy. In its new dress, his poetry looked so charmingly beautiful, that he scarcely knew it again. His hopes rose to the highest pitch when he found that the admiration of his printed verses was shared by others.
"Then why did you go to Walen's in Brighton and ask them to show you some gun-metal cigar-cases like the one in Lockhart's window?" "Simply because Henson asked me to. He came to me just before I went to the Metropole and told me he had a big thing on. He didn't give me the least idea what it was, nor did I ask him.
I heard him lecture on the animal instinct in Boston once, and he said but as you don't care for dogs it doesn't matter what he said." "Do you happen to know anything about him?" Henson asked. "Very little. I never met him, if that is what you mean. But I heard that he had done something particularly disgraceful. Why do you ask?" "Nothing more than a mere coincidence," Henson replied.
Well, I found out who the foe was. And I have a pretty good idea why he played that trick upon me. He knew that Enid Henson and myself were engaged; he could see what a danger to his schemes it would be to have a man like myself in the family. Then the second Rembrandt turned up, and there was his chance for wiping me off the slate.
"I cannot," the feeble, moaning voice said. "The house is full of ghosts; they haunt and follow me everywhere. And Chris is dead, and I have seen her spirit." "So I'm told," Henson said, with brutal callousness. "What was the ghost like?" "Like Chris. All pale and white, with a frightened look on her face. And she was all dressed in white, too, with a cloak about her shoulders.
Henson allows that he "did not actually forbid Slavery in express terms," and that he "never said in so many words, Slavery is wrong." But why not? It will not do to say the time was not ripe, for Mr. Henson admits that in Rome "the fashionable philosophies, especially that of the Stoics, branded Slavery as an outrage against the natural Equality of Men."
How the thing was stage-managed matters very little at present. It turns out now that your friend and Dr. Bell and myself have a common enemy." Ruth looked up swiftly. There was something like fear in her eyes. "Have have you discovered the name of that enemy?" she asked. "Yes, I know now that our foe is Mr. Reginald Henson." "A man who is highly respected.
But the cigar-case purchased by Ruth Gates must be somewhere, and we are as likely to find it near Reginald Henson as anywhere else, seeing that he is at the bottom of the whole business. That change was made either by himself or by somebody at his instigation. Once the change was made he would not bother about the spare cigar-case.
Henson could not help hinting some of these sceptic thoughts to his customer, and feelingly inquired of him whether it was 'real poetry' that he was writing. John Clare affirmed that it was real poetry; further explaining that he wrote most of his verses in the fields, on slips of paper, using the crown of his hat as a desk.
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