“Ever see the picture of Medusa in the Uffizi Gallery? It’s attributed to Leonardo da Vinci; but some people say it’s only a student’s copy of the original Leonardo which has disappeared. It seems my father came across three medallions with almost exactly the same Medusa on one side and a figure of Perseus on the reverse. And what’s more, he was able to get documentary proof that these things were really Leonardo’s own work—strange as it seems. The thing’s quite admitted by experts. So you can imagine that these Medusas are quite the star pieces in the museum. And Maurice calmly proposes to sell them to Kessock, the Yank millionaire; and Kessock has sent this man Foss over here to negotiate for them.”
“It seems rather a pity to part with them,” Sir Clinton said, regretfully.
“Maurice doesn’t feel it so,” Cecil retorted, rather bitterly. “He got a friend of mine, Foxy Polegate, to make him electrotypes of them in gold—Foxy’s rather good at that sort of thing for an amateur—and Maurice thinks that the electrotypes will look just as well as the originals.”
“H’m! Cenotaphs, I suppose,” Sir Clinton commented.
“Quite so. In Memoriam. The real things being buried in the U.S.A.”
Cecil paused for a moment and then concluded:
“You can imagine that none of us like this damned chandlering with these things that my father spent so much thought over. It’s enough to make him turn in his grave to have all his favourites scattered—and just for the sake of Maurice’s infernal miserliness and greed for cash.”
Sir Clinton rose from his seat and took a last glance at the view before him.
“What about moving on now?”
Cecil agreed; and they retraced their steps towards the pine-wood. As they entered the spinney, Sir Clinton noticed another of the Fairy Houses set back among the trees at a little distance from the path.