Again the odd gleam came into the doctor's eyes, as it had come when, by one of his amazing leading questions he had learnt that Lawrence Guthrie's father resided in Constantinople. The doctor mounted to the first floor. He was about to ring the bell of No. 59b, when another idea struck him. He descended and again addressed the porter.
"The Count must be resting. He does not reply. He has, of course, discharged his servants?"
"Yes, sir. He leaves England next week."
"Ah, he is alone."
Upstairs once more.
He rang three times before the door was opened to him by a tall, slight man, arrayed in a blue silk dressing-gown. He had a most pleasant face, and wore his moustache and beard according to the latest Parisian mode. He looked about thirty years of age, was fair, blue-eyed, and handsome.
"I am sorry to trouble you so late, Count," said the old doctor, in perfect French; "but I think I can make you an offer for some, if not all, of your collection."
He hunted, peering through a case which apparently contained some dozens of cards, finally handing the Count the following:
Isidor Levi
Fine Art Expert