She had been quite correct in her reading of the situation. Wraxall, despite her friendly warning, had made up his mind to approach their host with a direct offer for the Dangerfield Talisman. He had shown considerable tact in his manner of introducing the subject, for Mrs. Brent’s hints had not been lost upon him. But, just as she had predicted, he met with an uncompromising refusal.
“Part with our Talisman, Mr. Wraxall? It’s out of the question!”
The American tried to work round the flank of the defence.
“One moment, Mr. Dangerfield, before you make up your mind definitely. Perhaps I could say something to alter your views. I’m a collector. I’m not the keeper of a public museum. I want your Talisman for its own sake. I want it for itself and for myself. I shouldn’t put it in a show-case with a ticket on it. No one would know that you had transferred it. The matter would be entirely between ourselves—completely private.”
Rollo Dangerfield halted for a moment in his stride.
“And how would you propose to account for its disappearance from Friocksheim, then? Anyone looking at our empty cabinet would know that it had gone.”
Wraxall had his solution ready.
“A replica, of course. That could be made in a few days, by these modern electro-plating methods; and paste stones could be put in, instead of the real ones. It would serve well enough. It wouldn’t be spotted, Mr. Dangerfield, if you kept it out of people’s hands. You’d never talk; I wouldn’t talk; no one would ever know.”
Rollo Dangerfield turned in the moonlight.
“That’s a very ingenious idea, Mr. Wraxall. But the Talisman is not for sale.”