Uncle Si having no pretensions to be considered a French gentleman, did not hesitate to give his own shoulders a shrug. It was his turn then to confer with the discreet and knowledgeable Mr. Thornton, who it was clear was acting the difficult part of a go-between.
June heard that gentleman say in an audible whisper: “A fair price, Mr. Gedge, for the thing as it stands. It hasn’t a pedigree, and to me that signature looks a bit doubtful. In the market it may fetch more or it may fetch less, but at the same time four thousand guineas is a fine insurance.”
Finished dissembler as Uncle Si was, even he did not seek to deny the truth of this. There could be no gainsaying that four thousand guineas was a fine insurance. True, if the picture proved to be a veritable Van Roon it might fetch many times that sum. In that shrewd mind, no bigger miracle was needed for the thing to turn out a chef d’œuvre than that it should prove to be worth the sum offered by M. Duponnet. Either contingency seemed too good to be true. Besides, S. Gedge Antiques belonged to a conservative school, among whose articles of faith was a certain trite proverb about a bird in the hand.
It went to the old man’s heart to accept four thousand guineas for a work that might be worth so very much more. June could hear him breathing heavily. In her tense ear that sound dominated even the furious beating of her own heart. A kind of dizziness came over her, as only too surely she understood that the wicked old man was giving in. Before her very eyes he was going to surrender her own private property for a fabulous sum.
“Four t’ousand guineas, Meester Gedge,” said M. Duponnet, with quite an air of nonchalance. But he knew well enough that the old man was about to “fall.”
“It’s giving it away, Mussewer,” whined Uncle Si. “It’s giving it away.”
“Zat I don’t t’ink, Meester Gedge,” said the French gentleman, quietly unbuttoning his coat and taking a fountain pen and a cheque book from an inner pocket. “It’s a risque—a big risque. It may not be Van Roon at all—and zen where are we?”
“You know as well as I do that it’s a Van Roon,” Uncle Si verged almost upon tears.
“Very well, Meester Gedge, if you prefer ze big chance.” And cheque book in hand the French gentleman paused.
June was torn. And she could tell by the strange whine in the rasping voice that the Old Crocodile was also torn.