cylinder of his right
hand, peered through it with one eye.

"Admirable!" he said. "Corot, with some of the breadth of Constable.
Forgive the comparisons, Mr. Trenholme. Of course, the style is your
own, but one uses the names of accepted masters largely as adjectives
to explain one's meaning. You are a true impressionist. You paint
Nature as you see her, not as she is, yet your technique is superb and
your observation just. For instance, every shadow in this lovely
drawing shows that the hour was about eight o'clock. But, in painting
figures, I have no doubt you sink the impressionist in the realist....
The other sketch, please."

"The other sketch is a mere color note for future guidance," said
Trenholme offhandedly.

"It happens also to be a recognizable portrait of Miss Sylvia Manning.
I'm sorry, but I must see it."

"Suppose I refuse?"

"It will be obtained by other methods than a polite request."

"I'm afraid I shall have to run the risk."

"No, you won't." And the detective's tone became eminently friendly.
"You'll just produce it within the next half minute. You are not the
sort of man who would care to drag a lady's name into a police-court
wrangle, which can be the only outcome of present stubbornness on your
part. I know you were hidden among those cedars between, say, eight
o'clock and half past nine. I know that Miss Manning bathed in a lake
well within your view. I know, too, that you sketched her, because I
saw the canvas a moment ago--an oil, not a water color. These things
may or may not be relevant to an inquiry into a crime, but they will
certainly loom large in the public mind if the police have to explain
why they needed a warrant to search your apartments."

Furneaux had gauged the artistic temperament accurately. Without
another word of protest Trenholme placed the disputed canvas on the
easel.

"Do you smoke?" inquired the detective suddenly.

"Yes. What the deuce has my smoking got to do with it?"

"I fancied that, perhaps, you might like to have a pipe while I
examine this gem at leisure. One does not gabble the common-places of
life when in the presence of the supreme in art. I find that a really
fine picture induces a feeling of reverence, an emotion akin to the
influence of a mountain range, or a dim cathedral. Pray burn incense.
I am almost tempted to regret being a non-smoker."

Trenholme had heard no man talk in that strain since last he sat
outside the Cafe Margery and w