"Absolutely." Jake was still looking at him hard. "If it's not a rude question," he said deliberately, "is that what brought you?"
The American met his look with a flicker of the eyes that betrayed a hint of wariness. "It's not a rude question, Mr. Bolton," he said. "And it is not what brought me. I'm after art treasures at the present moment. To be particular, I'm after Saltash's wonder in marble, The Fallen Woman. We did a deal over that marble, he and I, in New York the other day. He was showing me a card-trick, and--I--spotted--the knave."
Rafford suddenly drawled, and Jake's eyes grew brighter.
"Come inside!" he said.
But Rafford shook his head. "No, not right away if you don't mind. There's a little light left. Will you show me the animals?"
Jake's right hand clenched on his whip. "Have you done a deal over them too?" he said, sinking his voice very low.
"No. But I've got an idea," Rafford said. "I'll tell you what it is presently. You've got some valuable stock here, I'm told. Say, Mr. Bolton, you don't object to showing me round?"
His smile was disarming. Jake swung round on his heel without another word.
They went from stable to stable, inspecting one after another of Jake's treasures, Jake himself reciting the record of each. He began the tour almost in silence, speaking only words of bare necessity, but in some magnetic fashion Rafford broke through his reserve. His quiet enthusiasm reached and fired Jake. Gradually the glow kindled, the bitterness passed from him, he became himself in his own element, he opened his heart to the stranger because it seemed that he understood.
It was a long inspection, and darkness was upon them before it ended. They came last of all to the home of The Hundredth Chance, and here with his favourite's nose tucked confidingly into his arm Jake told his hopes, his dreams.