"He is in the library, sir."
"Very good. I will join him there in a few moments."
The portrait of Sir Jacques had been spared to posterity by that admirable tradition which denies an English gentleman any display of emotion in the presence of a servant.
XV
"I have seized the first opportunity," said Thessaly, as Paul, composure restored, entered the library, "of offering a personal explanation of my behaviour."
Paul took his extended hand, waiving the proferred explanation. "Except as regards the damage done to your property, I am not interested. Had your disappearance been dictated by nothing more than a sudden desire for solitude I should have understood. If I should ever be called upon to act as you did on that occasion I should know that a friend would understand. If he misunderstood he would not be a friend. I fear I am somewhat dusty. I have been destroying a portion of my legacy."
Jules Thessaly, dropping back into the padded arm-chair in which he had been seated, stared hard at Paul.
"Not the illustrations to that portion of Scheherazade's narrative invariably expunged from all respectable editions of the Thousand and One Nights?"
Paul nodded, pushing a box of cigars across the table. "You know them?"
"I know that Sir Jacques possessed such pictures."