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It was rather the off season for theatre; there were only matinees on Sunday. This left me with more time than I would like to contemplate the key. One afternoon I stood on the bridge for over an hour with it in my hand, contemplating tossing it to the Themes. At last, one rainy afternoon, I sat in my lodgings, and opened the note that was attached to the key.

"Thank you" it read. "You did not, after all, have to read this, and the fact that you are gives me hope that you will accept my gift.

When I write this, my parents are dead, and when you read this, yours shall be, for which I am sorry, as I loved your mother more than the moon.
Rather I should say that my parents have been dead for years, and I raised my sister, your mother, as best I could. I can see that she will, within two years of my death, be in love with your father, who is a good man, so I have no regrets on that score, though it is sad that she shall be alone for those years.

You may wonder, since I am dead even before they meet, how I know that you shall be born; On this I must beg your indulgence, because I do not know if you shall believe me, but I am a magician."

Here I put the message down, and wandered about my room. Somehow, it was both shocking and reassuring that my uncle, Howell, (for who else could have written it?) was a magic user, as I my self had become, long after his death. After some time I returned to the note.
".. I am a magician. If you believe me, so much the better. If you do not, then my legacy will mean little to you. It is little enough, but it is yours. Take the key to the solicitors of Harker and Murray, they hold a box for you.
I fear however, that that is only the beginning of your adventure."