"Really? Where, may I ask?"
Quinney indicated a small, much-battered piece of oak.
"Remove that," he observed quietly, "and you will find the signature under it."
"Whose signature?"
"The signature of a great artist who lives near Treguier in Brittany."
"Lives? What do you mean?"
Quinney met the young gentleman's scornful eyes and held them.
"I mean, my lad, that your master has here a very clever copy, signed where I say by the man who copied it, whom I know. I've not asked the price, but I'll tell you this: if it's genuine, it's cheap at two thousand; if it's a copy I can buy a dozen just like it at sixteen pounds apiece. Good-morning."
After three days' hard walking, Quinney summed up results as follows: There were three classes of dealers in London. The tip-toppers, with establishments in fashionable thoroughfares, who sold the best stuff at a fancy price; the men, whose name was Legion, who lived here, there, and everywhere, selling wares good, bad, and indifferent at a small profit; and the middle-men, who sold almost exclusively to the big dealers.
"There is a place for me," said Quinney, with absolute conviction.