“Nothing。”repliedCarthew。“Itcouldn’tbeexplained。TheywereacrowdofsmalldealersatLloyd’swhotookitupinsyndicate；oneofthemhasacarriagenow；andpeoplesayheisadeuceofadeepfellow，andhasthemakingsofagreatfinancier。Anotherfurnishedasmallvillaontheprofits。Butthey’reallhopelesslymuddled；andwhentheymeeteachother，theydon’tknowwheretolook，liketheAugurs。”
DinnerwasnosooneratanendthanhecarriedmeacrosstheroadtoMasson’soldstudio。Itwasstrangelychanged。Onthewallsweretapestry，afewgoodetchings，andsomeamazingpictures——aRousseau，aCorot，areallysuperboldCrome，aWhistler，andapiecewhichmyhostclaimedandIbelievetobeaTitian。TheroomwasfurnishedwithcomfortableEnglishsmoking-roomchairs，someAmericanrockers，andanelaboratebusinesstable；spiritsandsoda-waterwiththemarkofSchweppe，nolessstoodreadyonabutler’stray，andinonecorner，behindahalf-drawncurtain，Ispiedacamp-bedandacapacioustub。SucharoominBarbizonastonishedthebeholder，likethegloriesofthecaveofMonteCristo。
“Now。”saidhe，“wearequiet。Sitdown，ifyoudon’tmind，andtellmeyourstoryallthrough。”
Ididasheasked，beginningwiththedaywhenJimshowedmethepassageinthe_DailyOccidental_，andwindingupwiththestampalbumandtheChaillypostmark。Itwasalongbusiness；
andCarthewmadeitlonger，forhewasinsatiableofdetails；