“Bound in original oak boards, with an old brass clasp—eh?” he inquired, with a queer smile about the corners of his mouth. “May I be permitted to see it?”
His demand aroused my suspicions at once. It was evident that the prior had regretted having sold it to me, and had sent his agent to endeavour to get it back at any cost. Therefore, knowing the unscrupulous ways of some Italians in a cosmopolitan city like Leghorn, I did not intend to give the cunning old fellow sight of it.
“Why do you wish to inspect it? I’ve packed it away, and it would give me great trouble to get at it again.”
“Then the signore does really send things to England to sell again, as I have heard the people say?” suggested the old man somewhat rudely.
“No, I’m not a dealer,” I responded angrily. “Who told you so?”
“It is common gossip, signore,” replied the queer old fellow blandly. “But if you wish it, I’ll take steps to correct public opinion on that point.”
“Let the gossips say what pleases them,” I snapped. “I’ve never yet sold anything I’ve bought. I suppose they think that by the quantity of my purchases I must be going to set up a curiosity shop. But,” I added, “tell me, Graniani, why do you wish to see the manuscript I bought yesterday?”
“Oh, mere curiosity,” was his quick answer. “You know I’m interested in such things, and wanted to know how the prior treated you after my recommendation.”
“He treated me well enough, and I brought a bargain.”
“A bargain?” he echoed, and I fancied I detected a strange curl in his lip. “The reverendo does not sell many bargains. How much did you pay?”