laced the volume, and with fingers that were none too
steady filled and lighted his pipe.

His reflections brought him little solace. He was in the toils. The
intervening hours with their divers happenings passed all but unnoticed.
That day had space for but one event, and its coming overshadowed all
others. The hour came, then, all too soon, and punctually at four-thirty
Sheard presented himself in Hamilton Place.

Sir Leopold Jesson's collection of china and pottery is one of the three
finest in Europe, and Sheard, under happier auspices, would have enjoyed
examining it. Ralph Crofter, the popular black-and-white artist who
accompanied him, was lost in admiration of the pure lines and exquisite
colouring of the old Chinese ware in particular.

"This piece would be hard to replace, Sir Leopold?" he said, resting his
hand upon a magnificent jar of delicate rose tint, that seemed to blush
in the soft light.

The owner nodded complacently. He was a small man, sparely built, and
had contracted, during forty years' labour in the money market, a
pronounced stoop. His neat moustache was wonderfully black, blacker than
Nature had designed it, and the entire absence of hair upon his high,
gleaming crown enabled the craniologist to detect, without difficulty,
Sir Leopold's abnormal aptitude for finance.

"Two thousand would not buy it, sir!" he answered.

Crofton whistled softly and then passed along the room.

"This is very beautiful!" he said suddenly, and bent over a small vase
with figures in relief. "The design and sculpture are amazingly fine!"

"That piece," replied Sir Leopold, clearing his throat, "is almost
unique. There is only one other example known--the Hamilton Vase!"

"The stolen one?"

"Yes. They are of the same period, and both from the Barberini Palace."

"Of course you have read the latest particulars of that extraordinary
affair? What do you make of it?"

Jesson shrugged his shoulders.

"The vase is known to every connoisseur in Europe," he said. "No one
dare buy it--though," he added smiling, "many would like to!"

Sheard coughed uneasily. He had a task to perform.

"Your collection represents a huge fortune, Sir Leopold," he said.

"Say four hundred thousand pounds!" answered the collector comfortably.

"A large sum. Think of the thousands whom that amount would make happy!"

Having broken the ice, Sheard found his enforced task not altogether
distasteful. It seemed wrong to him, unjust