Feeling baffled, yet mentally exhilarated, I went into the adjoining library, but the cold draft blew out my candle. Groping my way back, with the little picture, I was arrested by the scene in the room beyond. My guest stood with arms folded and face lifted to grandma’s portrait, as though, in a tense moment, he were asking an impassioned question and receiving a benedictory answer. When I entered, he turned to examine the Mercury through his glass, and presently said:
“This is undoubtedly a genuine Benvenuto, Miss Legree. I believe your fortune lies here!”
“Miss Legree!” I chided, and be flushed slightly, adding: “Enid.”
I reminded him that grandma owned only originals, and related the history of the Fierienti; how it had been painted by the great Italian for the queen, who was godmother to the little Laughing Duchess; how it came into England with the eldest son of the duchess, and thence into France with a grandson, an émigré from the Revolution, who was grandma’s father.
“It was her treasure, but you, yourself, prevented us from making a fatal mistake,” I smiled back to the luring laughter of the picture. “She needed money once, almost as badly as—” I stopped. In his bladelike glance of comprehension, quickly sheathed, lay the perception of a forlorn hope in the shape of half a ham and eight sticks of wood. “As many do,” I added, tritely. “The mortgage was due and I suggested selling this picture, but the sons of the family had owned it, and she wished to wait for your coming, that yours might be the decision. You may call it an old lady’s over-scrupulous sense of loyalty, but I think it very sweet. She sold, instead, the companion to the Buddha, and left the Duchess to me. Now, I can, in a measure, fulfill her wish. Sell the bronze and ivory, Cary, but do as you will about the Laughing Duchess.”
I put the picture in his hands, and he sat under the lamp examining it with an expert’s eagerness. At last he said:
“I believe this to be the original Fierienti. Will you trust me with it, irrespective of relationship?”
I said that I would trust him with anything, and he smiled, gravely, and took out pen and check-book. “I must feel that you believe me to be acting for your best interest. I confess that I came with the intention of buying the picture. Its records were hazy where the London fire was concerned, and it is a gem, but the Cellini Mercury must be valued by the committee. I will leave you a deposit to secure both as my property, and you will receive the maximum value after the final estimate is made. But you may withdraw the sale at any time during the coming month, by wiring to the bank upon which this check is drawn.”
“You are not—” I tried to say.
“Acting merely upon a personal basis? Not in the least. I am eager to own the things, but will hold them at your disposal for a time.”