"Yes, Count Tarnowsy," said the lawyer. "They are ready for the signatures." "Perhaps Mr. Smart may have reconsidered his offer to sell," said Tarnowsy. "Let him see the contracts." "I have not reconsidered," I said quietly. "You may sign here, Mr. Smart," said the notary, as he gave me the document, a simple contract, I found. "Jasper Titus will offer more than I can afford to pay," said the Count. "Please do not feel that I am taking an unfair advantage of you. I am absolutely certain that he wants to buy this place for--his granddaughter, a descendant of barons." The significance of this remark was obvious, and it was the nearest he ever came to uttering the conviction that had been formed in that illuminating five minutes upstairs. If he suspected,--and I think he did,--he preferred not to ask the questions that must have been searing his curious brain. It was a truly wonderful demonstration of self-restraint. I would have given much to have been able to read his innermost thoughts, to watch the perplexed movements of his mind. "Schloss Rothhoefen is yours, Count Tarnowsy," said I. "It is for you to say whether his whim shall be gratified." His lips twitched. I saw his hand touch the bulging coat-pocket with a swift, passing movement. "Will you be good enough to sign, Mr. Smart?" he said coldly. He glanced at his watch. "My time is valuable. When can you give possession?" "The day the deed is transferred." "That will be in less than three days. I have satisfied myself that the title is clear. There need be no delay." We signed the contract after I had requested Poopendyke to read it aloud to me. It called for the payment of fifty thousand kronen, or a little over two thousand pounds sterling, at the time of signing. His lawyer handed me a package of crisp banknotes and asked me to count them. I did so deliberately, the purchaser looking on with a sardonic smile. "Correct," said I, laying the package on the table. He bowed very deeply. "Are you satisfied, Mr. Smart, that there are no counterfeits among them?" he inquired with polite irony. Then to his lawyer: "Take the gentleman's receipt for the amount in the presence of witnesses. This is a business transaction, not a game of chance." It was the insult perfect. As he prepared to take his departure, he assumed an insinuating air of apology, and remarked to me: "I owe you an apology, Mr. Smart. There was a time when I did you an injustice. I suspected you of keeping your mistress here. Pray forgive my error."