"Wonderful bit of fake work, Mr. Jordan, isn't it?"
"Half-and-half, I call it," observed Tomlin, noting the effect on James.
"Yes," said Jordan slowly. "This leg is genuine, I should say, and that isn't. Under a strong glass one would perceive the difference."
He looked up to behold James quite unable to control his emotions. The lever in which he had trusted was elevating Posy's father to sublime heights. By a stroke of genius Quinney had challenged the attention of a millionaire collector, who might entrust so honest a man with commissions involving tens of thousands of pounds. His bluff had been called in Posy's presence, Posy who was staring at her father with wonder in her eyes. For one moment he was tempted to throw prudence to the winds, and proclaim the fraud. But—would he be believed now?
"Is this young man ill?" asked Jordan.
"Oh no," said Quinney. "He's upset, that's what he is, and no wonder! I'll say this for him, he's a clever lad; and he always had his doubts about them chairs, didn't you, James?"
"Yes," replied the unhappy James, "but——"
"That'll do, my boy. Take away that chair. I feel ill when I look at it. Case it up. We'll send the lot back to Ireland this afternoon."
James picked up the chair and retreated in disorder, outplayed at all points.
"The needlework is beautiful," said Jordan.