No friendly table could avail her now. In ascending that sheer and slippery face of painted metal-work, she must not expect help from outside when the time came to escape from her prison. Besides one incautious movement might cause the whole thing to topple. And if topple it did, the results would be dire.
This, however, was not the time to consider that aspect of the case. Let her be thankful for a concealment so perfect which allowed her to breathe and to see without being seen or her presence suspected. For such material benefits she must lift up her heart; and hope for the best when the time came to get out. With a sense of grim satisfaction she set herself “to lie doggo,” and await the next turn in a game that was full of peril.
It was not long before Uncle Si shambled into the shop. June could see him quite clearly, as he came in with that furtive air which she had learned to know so well. First he took off his spectacles and applied to them vigorously a red bandanna handkerchief. Then he peered cautiously round to make sure that he was alone.
June had not dared to hope that the picture was concealed in the shop; and yet it offered every facility. There were many nooks and crannies, and the whole place was crammed with old pieces of furniture, bric-à-brac, curios. But June had felt that S. Gedge Antiques was not likely to run the risk of hiding his treasure in the midst of these. She thought that his bedroom, under lock and key, was the most likely place of all.
Howbeit, with a sharp thrill, half torment, half delight, she saw that this was not the case. Within a few feet of the Hoodoo itself was an old oak chest which Uncle Si cautiously drew aside. The very spot whereon it had rested contained a loose board. He took a small chisel from a drawer in the counter, prised up the board and from beneath it took forth the buried treasure.
Long and lovingly the old man looked at it, hugging it to his breast more than once in the process, and as he did so June was reminded irresistibly of the Miser Gaspard in “Les Cloches des Corneville,” that famous play she had once seen at the Theatre Royal, Blackhampton. To hide such a thing in such a place was a regular miser’s trick. It was just what she had expected of him. Presently a grandfather clock, with a Westminster Abbey face, “guaranteed Queen Anne,” chimed the hour of three. June could scarcely breathe for excitement. Her heart seemed to rise in her throat and choke her.
At five minutes past three came Mr. Thornton and Monsieur Duponnet. The Frenchman was a small and dapper personage, with a keen eye and a neat imperial. In manner he was much quieter than tradition exacts of a Frenchman, but it was easy to tell that Uncle Si was much impressed by him. Louis Quinze-legs, too, was full of deference. That gentleman, whose face was almost as foxy as that of Uncle Si himself, and about whose lips a thin smile flitted perpetually, had an air of tacit homage for the smallest remark of M. Duponnet, who was clearly a man of great consequence if the bearing of Mr. Thornton was anything to go by.
June, at the back of the shop, inside the Hoodoo and her keen eyes hidden by its half-open jaws, which, in addition to other advantages was partly masked by a litter of bric-à-brac, was in a position to gain full knowledge of all that passed between these three. To begin with, S. Gedge Antiques ceremoniously handed the picture to Louis Quinze-legs who, with a fine gesture, handed it to Monsieur Duponnet.
The Frenchman examined the canvas back and front through his own private glass, scratched portions of it with his nail, pursed his lips, rubbed his nose, and no doubt would have shrugged his shoulders had not that been such a jejune thing for a Frenchman to do.
With a deference that was quite impressive, Mr. Thornton and S. Gedge Antiques waited for M. Duponnet to say something.