Florence smiled as she watched him. She had hoped he would say at first glance: “Why, where did you chance to find that? It was lost from one of our cases while we were moving! We believed it stolen.” Florence had had quite enough of adventure and mystery. She was convinced that holding this trophy she was sure to experience more trouble.
Mr. Cole did not do the expected thing. What he did was to turn the candlestick over and over. A look of amazement spread over his usually smiling face.
“No,” he murmured, “it can’t be.”
Two more turns. He held it to the light. “And, yet, it does seem to be.”
Stepping to a door which led to a balcony, with an absent-minded “Pardon me,” he disappeared through the door, but Florence could still see him. As he held the thing to the light, turning, turning, and turning it again, the look of amazement grew on his face.
As he re-entered the room, he exclaimed:
“It is! It most certainly is! I am astounded.”
Motioning Florence to a seat he dropped into the swivel chair before his desk. For a moment he sat staring at the candlestick, then he asked:
“Would you mind telling me where you found this?”
“In the old museum.”