It was Thursday afternoon. Hirsch stepped in at the door which led to the Quair Collection, to find the man in charge of it had all the customary cicerone’s dull loquacity. He dribbled dates and gushed details of family history as if he were a gargoyle who had never got refreshment from the currents pouring through him. Thick-set, short, and rasped upon the chin from too-close shaving, he looked the very figure of a man to fill one of the empty suits of mail that flanked the entrance to the gallery, and even to the shopman’s eye of Hirsch he had an air of truculence that somehow seemed to accord with the situation. “You do not appear to have many visitors to-day,” said the picture-dealer, having looked perfunctorily at dingy tapestry and pictures, and now with eyes, in which the fires of covetousness were with difficulty restrained, upon the tarnished Tudor Cup in its corner cupboard. “Ye’re the first this week,” said the guide with acerbity, as if the shilling feed were a more personal matter than the gossips of the countryside believed; and Hirsch the dealer, rubbing his hook-nose to conceal the tremulous avidity of his mouth, saw that disappointed avarice was in this creature’s eyes. “I should like, a little later on, to see Sir Gilbert,” said the dealer, who had five thousand pounds in his pocket, and a Jew’s conviction that an impecunious Scot could never resist the delicious crackle of English notes. “Ye canna; he’s from home,” explained the guide. “He’s awa’ to Edinburgh for a month.” A thought came there and then to the dealer which made him pale. Avarice and cunning were in the old man’s face; his shillings plainly meant a lot to him; his clothing was in poor accord with the guardianship of treasure. “Look here,” said Hirsch in a confidential whisper. “If your master is to be away for a month, there is no reason why the matter I meant to arrange with him should not be arranged with you, and put a handsome sum of money in your pocket. I have taken a fancy to this silver jug, and though I know Sir Gilbert will not part with it, I thought he might at least agree to let me have it copied. It’s a thing that is often done, Mr—” “Meldrum,” said the guide with a promising air of equanimity. “In two or three weeks I could have my copy made in Paris, and this cup returned to you in safety, and no one else except ourselves need be a bit the wiser, Mr Meldrum.” The guide gave a laugh that was half a sneer, and checked it suddenly with a hand upon his mouth. “It’s a maist singular proposition,” he remarked reflectively. “In the four-and-twenty years I have been showin’ folk the Quair Collection I havena heard the like of it. And it comes from a total stranger!” “I represent one of the most reputable firms in London,” Hirsch hastened to explain, with the simultaneous production of his business card.