Mr. Wrenmarsh looked at him curiously.
"Of course," he responded. "If he had let his curiosity get the better of him, or his tongue wag, he'd be a good deal poorer than he is at present. They are stupid louts, these peasants, but they do learn enough not to take the government into their confidence when they find anything. They know that they'd get nothing out of it if they did. Besides, they are as stolid as buffaloes. They can wait well enough."
"But what did he find?" demanded Taberman, his interest thoroughly aroused by this tale of treasure-trove, which appealed to every boyish and every adventurous fibre in him.
"He went by night with a lantern and a couple of panniers. He filled his baskets twice, filled them with priceless things in a perfect condition—beautiful kylixes and glass bowls. There's one that measures at least half a metre across the top. Think of that! Why, it's the finest glass I've ever seen or heard of! It's the finest glass there is!"
"Great Scott!" cried Jerry, alive with excitement. "It must be awfully old!"
"Old!" retorted Wrenmarsh with scorn; "do you know where you are?"
Jerry twisted his head to look up at the tall columns and broken pediment above him, on the pinkish-gray stones of which the afternoon sun fell with loving warmth.
"Yes, of course," he said. "But what did he do with the things?"
"I kept at him till I wormed the whole business out of him," the collector answered, "and I bought his things—damn him!"