“And I really love pictures.”
“For themselves?”
“H’m, yes––for themselves.”
Travers Gladwin stood frowning at the floor for a moment, then looked up quickly.
“See here, then––you’ve worked mighty hard for my pictures and I’m going to give you a few of the best of them. Here!” And Gladwin stepped over to the corner of the room where the trunk had been dropped and picked up a bundle of canvases.
The picture expert wore a broad grin as the young man came toward him. He waved aside the proffered bundle and said:
“Those are not the best of them. Just a minute.”
He reached behind him and pulled down from under his belted coat a similar carefully rolled bundle.
“These are the gems of your collection,” he said grimly, offering the slim roll of canvases. “I can’t keep them now––you’ve been too white about this whole thing. I couldn’t even accept ‘The Blue Boy.’”
Gladwin refused to accept the paintings and the thief laid them down on the table. Stepping closer to the young man, he bent down and said low and earnestly: