ent the Marston supply with these canvases. I was timid. Such
sales must be cautiously made, and solely to private individuals who
would remove the pictures from public view. At last, I found these two
which you saw at Milan. I felt that Mr. Saxon could never improve
them. I would take the chance, even though I had to exhibit them
publicly. The last of the Marstons, save a few, had been sold. I could
realize enough from these to take my daughter to Cairo, where she
might have a chance to live. I bought the canvases in New York in
person. They have never been publicly shown save in Milan; they were
there but for a day only, and were not to be photographed. When you
sent for me, I thought it was an American Croesus, and that I had
succeeded." St. John had talked rapidly and with agitation. Now, as he
paused, he wiped the moisture from his forehead with his
pocket-handkerchief.

"I have planned the thing with the utmost care. I have had no
confederates. I even collected a few of Mr. Saxon's earlier and less
effective pictures, and exhibited them beside Marston's best, so the
public might compare and be convinced in its idea that the boundary
between the master and the follower was the boundary between the
sublime and the merely meritorious. That is all. For a year I have
hesitated. When I entered this room, I realized my danger. Even in the
growing twilight, I recognized the lady as the original of the
portrait."

"But didn't you know," questioned the girl, "that sooner or later the
facts must become known--that at any time Mr. Saxon might come to
Europe, and see one of his own pictures as I saw the portrait of
myself in Milan?"

St. John bowed his head.

"I was desperate enough to take that chance," he answered, "though I
safeguarded myself in many ways. My sales would invariably be to
purchasers who would take their pictures to private galleries. I
should only have to dispose of a few at a time. Mr. Saxon has sold
many pictures in Paris under his own name, and does not know who
bought them. Selling them as Marston's, though somewhat more
complicated, might go on for some time--and my daughter's life can
not last long. After that, nothing matters."

"Have you actually sold any Saxons as Marstons heretofore?" demanded
Steele.

St. John hesitated for a moment, and then nodded his head.

"Possibly, a half-dozen," he acknowledged, "to private collectors,
where I felt it was safe."

"I have no wish to be severe," S