“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；

......

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