"No, I don't. But I fancy the good ones were sold off long ago—twenty years ago I believe. There was a sale—a lot of rubbish of sorts. I took it for granted that Lister's people cleaned out everything worth taking."
"When you go back," said Sir Charles, "inspect that rubbish again. Perhaps Lister's people overlooked enough to get you out of your financial difficulties. Pictures that sold for £100 twenty years ago might bring £1,000 to-day. It's merely a suggestion, Dankmere—if you'll pardon it."
"And a good one," added O'Hara. "I know a lot of interestin' people and they tell me that you can sell any rotten old picture over here for any amount of money. Sting 'em, Dankmere. Get to 'em!"
"You might send for some of your pictures," said Lacy, "and have a shot at the auction-mad amateur. He's too easy."
"And pay duty and storage and gallery hire and auction fees!—no, thanks," replied the little Earl, cautiously. "I've burnt my bally fingers too often in schemes."
"I've a back room behind my office," said Quarren. "You can store them there if you like, without charge."
"Besides, if they're genuine, there will be no duty to pay," explained Sir Charles.
Dankmere sucked on his cigar but made no comment; and the game went on, disastrously for him.
Quarren said casually to Sir Charles:
"I suppose you will be off to Newport, soon."