Nearer and nearer approached the catalogued numbers of the two copies of Valdez; pale and desperate he sat there, his heart almost suffocating him as the moment drew near. And now the time had come; now the celebrated Mr. Heikem began his suave preliminary chatter; now he was asking confidently for a bid.
A silence ensued—and whether it was the silence of awe at the priceless treasure or the silence of indifference White did not know. But after the auctioneer had again asked for a bid he found his voice and offered ten dollars. His ears were scarlet when he did it.
"Fifteen," said a sweet but tremulous voice not[266] far from White, and he looked around in astonishment. It was his red-haired vis-a-vis.
"Twenty!" he retorted, still labouring under his astonishment.
"Twenty-five!" came the same sweet voice.
There was a silence. No other voices said anything. Evidently nobody wanted Valdez except himself and his red-haired neighbour.
"Thirty!" he called out at the psychological moment.
The girl turned in her chair and looked at him. She seemed to be unusually pale.
"Thirty-five!" she said, still gazing at White in a frightened sort of way.
"Forty," he said; rose at the same moment and walked over to where the girl was sitting.