“It was at a place called Crowdham Market.”
“Down in Suffolk. Sounds a funny place to find a Van Roon.”
“It was ever so dirty when it was found. And another picture seemed to have been painted on the top of it.”
“Queer.” The eyes of Adolph Keller narrowed in their intentness. “Who told you it was a Van Roon?”
“The man who gave it to me.”
“Who told him?”
“He found the signature.” June’s quiet precision owed something to the fact that she was now fully and rather deliciously aware of the effect she was making.
“What!... The signature of Mynheer Van Roon?”
“Yes,” said June.
The incredulity of Keller had yielded now to a powerful curiosity. He looked at June with a keenness he tried hard to veil. This was a very unlikely story, yet he knew enough of life to appreciate the fact that mere unlikelihood is no reason why a story should not be true. Besides, this girl had such an ingenuous air that it was impossible to believe her tale was a deliberate invention. At the same time, it had elements which were particularly hard to swallow.