Gregg felt a sudden relief. The man wasn’t drunk—it was the beauty of the picture which had affected him. He could forgive him that, although he felt sure the next move would be an offer to purchase it. He had met his kind before.
“I bought it at private sale,” he answered simply.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Who sold it to you?”
“Schenck, the auctioneer.”
“Will you sell it to me?”
“No; I never sell anything of that kind.”
“Not at a large price?”