“I came up this morning to meet a friend of mine,” replied Mr. Brewster genially. “Professor Binstead.”
“Don’t think I know him.”
“Very interesting man,” said Mr. Brewster, still with the same uncanny amiability. “He’s a dabbler in a good many things—science, phrenology, antiques. I asked him to bid for me at a sale yesterday. There was a little china figure—”
Archie’s jaw fell.
“China figure?” he stammered feebly.
“Yes. The companion to one you may have noticed on my mantelpiece upstairs. I have been trying to get the pair of them for years. I should never have heard of this one if it had not been for that valet of mine, Parker. Very good of him to let me know of it, considering I had fired him. Ah, here is Binstead.”—He moved to greet the small, middle-aged man with the tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles who was bustling across the lobby.—“Well, Binstead, so you got it?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose the price wasn’t particularly stiff?”
“Twenty-three hundred.”
“Twenty-three hundred!” Mr. Brewster seemed to reel in his tracks. “Twenty-three hundred!”