“Oh, indeed! Yes.”
“Mr. Ringsmith has decided to give you what I think may be considered in the circumstances a very handsome price for the three pictures. He has told me that I may offer you £5,000.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s very kind indeed of Mr. Ringsmith.” Mrs. Stillwell was quite astonished; she had not expected nearly so much.
MacTavish lost no time; he handed her a cheque, and in a few moments took his departure.
Some weeks passed. Ringsmith again occupied the deep leather chair, and Peter Knott was announced.
“Good afternoon, Stephen; thought I’d look in for a moment. No, thanks.” This in answer to Ringsmith’s offer of tea.
“Mrs. Stillwell told me about the deal, Stephen.”
“Well, were you satisfied?”
Peter Knott didn’t answer the question.
“By the way,” he remarked softly, “her boy’s just come back. Got shot through one of his lungs. Extraordinary thing—miracle almost. He’s made a marvellous recovery, thanks entirely to a motor ambulance being handy. They got him to the base hospital, and now he’s almost convalescent. Aren’t you glad you subscribed, Stephen?”