“Now, look here,” said the young man, in a sudden access of violence; “what the hell’s your little game?” Gilead, taken completely by surprise, lacked words to answer. “You’re a toff,” went on the stranger. “These skins ain’t old, but fresh-bought, with the importers’ labels still on ’em. What the devil do you mean by trying to pass them off on me as old?” “I really didn’t realize that age was a sine qua non,” said the customer. “Sine what?” said the young man. “O! didn’t you, now? You’re a pusson of observation, you are. Now, what do you mean?” “Frankly,” said Gilead, who had recovered his self-possession, “I don’t quite know. My object was to find out what you did.” “O! was it?” said the dealer, with a violently derisive emphasis. “Jest so.” “There’s a skin there,” said Gilead, “which answers exactly to the description of the one you most require.” “So I see,” said the dealer. “Only it’s not old?” “Only it’s not old.” “Well, I suppose there’s a virtue in antiquity.” “Don’t you know there is, being a toff?” “I confess,” said Gilead, “that mangy plumes excite no emotion in me.” “You’d understand their use, maybe, if you was curator to a perishing museum,” answered the dealer. Gilead opened his eyes. “Is _that_ the explanation?” he said. “I humbly beg your pardon, Mr Jenniver. My curiosity is rebuked. Come, I apologize. But the advertisement really seemed to me such an odd one that I couldn’t resist following it up.” “Well,” said the young man, with some appearance of relief, “you let your friends know my object, and we’ll say no more about it. I dussay as there’s plenty of fine ladies of your acquaintance what would like to get a price for their cast-offs.” “It’s likely enough,” said Gilead. “I’m sorry to have seemed so obtrusive. Good morning, Mr Jenniver.” The young man did not answer, and the customer left the shop. He walked rapidly at first, urged by a certain sense of humiliation; but in a little his steps had slackened, and he was proceeding on his way sunk deep in reverie. The fact was that the dealer’s explanation, accepted as so plausible in its first utterance, was, as he reconsidered it, failing more and more to satisfy him. Perishing museums, forsooth! Was it in reason to arrest decay by patching it with decay? Besides surely secondhand stuff of the sort was easily procurable without having recourse to expensive advertisements. The elucidation appeared to him on reflection to have been rather inspired, and on the instant, by his own comments. And then the empty shop, the sinister neighbourhood, the aggressiveness and obvious suspicion of the dealer that he was being got at? No, he was convinced that he had actually touched the hem of some mystery, harmless possibly, but so far without a shadow of a clue to its meaning. And yet, the more puzzling it appeared, the more was he stimulated to persist in an endeavour to unravel it. He confided his non-success to Nestle when he reached the office.