gerly, and presently
Jack saw him staring hard at an unstiffened canvas which he had found.
It was the duplicate Rembrandt painted for Martin Von Whele. Jack had
not been reading the papers much of late, and was ignorant of the
Hollander's death.

"That is nothing of any account," he said. "It is the copy of an old
master."

"Ah, I have a little taste for the antique," replied M. Marchand.
"This is repulsive--it is a frightful face. Were it in my collection,
monsieur, it would quite spoil my pretty bits of scenery."

He tossed the canvas carelessly aside, and finally chose a couple of
water-colors, both showing picturesque nooks of Paris.

"I should like to have these," he said, "if monsieur is willing to name
a price."

"Fifteen pounds for the two," Jack announced reluctantly. "Can I send
them for you?" he added.

"No; I will take them with me."

Jack tied up the portfolio and replaced it under the couch, an operation
that was closely watched by his visitor. Then he wrapped up the two
sketches, and received three five-pound notes.

"May I offer you some refreshment?" he said, politely. "You will find
brandy there--"

"I love the golden whisky of England," protested M. Marchand.

He mixed some for himself, and after drinking it he wiped his lips with
a handkerchief. As he returned it to his pocket Jack saw on the white
linen a brown stain that he was sure had not been there before.

M. Felix Marchand looked at his watch, shook hands with Jack, and hoped
that he would have the pleasure of seeing him again. Then he bowed
ceremoniously, and was gone, carrying the parcel under his arm. Jack
closed the door, and retired to an inner room to change his clothing for
the evening.

"I'll have a grill at the Trocadero," he told himself, "and drop in at
the Alhambra for the last few numbers. A queer chap, that Frenchman!
Where did he pick up such good English? He was all right, of course, but
I can't help feeling a bit puzzled. Fancy his taking a craze for my
studies of Paris! I remember that they gathered dust for months in old
Cambon's window, until one day I missed them. It's a funny thing about
that brown mark which came off on his handkerchief after he wiped his
mustache. Still, I've known men to use such stuff to give them a healthy
color, though this chap didn't look as if he needed it. And he said he
suffered from a chest complaint."

* * * * *

At eight o'clock Jack was