In three languages the card announced that he was "August Schwartzmuller, of the Imperial galleries, Munchen, Zumpe & Schwartzmuller, proprietors. Restorations a specialty." There was much more, but I did not have time to read all of it. Moreover, the card was a trifle soiled, as if it had been used before. There could be no doubt as to his genuineness. He was an art expert.
For ten minutes I allowed them to expatiate on the perils of procrastination in the treatment of rare old canvases and pigments, and then, having formulated my plans, blandly inquired what the cost would be. It appears that Herr Schwartzmuller had examined the frescoes no longer than six months before in the interests of a New York gentleman to whom Count Hohendahl had tried to sell them for a lump sum. He was unable to recall the gentleman's name.
"I should say not more than one hundred and fifty thousand marks, perhaps less," said the expert, rolling his calculative eye upward and running it along the vast dome of the hall as if to figure it out in yards and inches.
The Count was watching me with an eager light in his eyes. He looked away as I shot a quick glance at his face. The whole matter became as clear as day to me. He was to receive a handsome commission if the contract was awarded. No doubt his share would be at least half of the amount stipulated. I had reason to believe that the work could be performed at a profit for less than half the figure mentioned by the German.
"Nearly forty thousand dollars, in other words," said I reflectively.
"They are worth ten times that amount, sir," said the expert gravely.
I smiled skeptically. The Count took instant alarm. He realised that I was not such a fool as I looked, perhaps.
"Hohendahl was once offered two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Mr. Smart," he said.
"Why didn't he accept it?" I asked bluntly. "He sold the whole place to me, contents included, for less than half that amount."
"It was years ago, before he was in such dire straits," he explained quickly.