Accordingly, he slipped away to London some two days later, leaving two women and an intelligent child in blissful ignorance of what was waving above them. He told Susan that an interview with the fire insurance people was imperative. She was quite ready to believe that, and speeded him on his journey with smiles and kisses. "While you are away," she said cheerfully, "I shall be looking out for another Dream Cottage." "You won’t find it in Melchester," he replied curtly. Upon arrival in London he set forth gallantly in search of a "pitch." He wandered in and out of curiosity shops big and small. Some of the dealers knew him slightly. Many of the older men used to deal with his father. They were well aware that the son refused on principle to sell to the trade. Tomlin had passed round that word long ago. Quinney inspected their wares, and chuckled to himself whenever he encountered a fake labelled as a genuine antique. The biggest men displayed stuff not above suspicion. Indeed, the chuckling became audible when he discovered a Minihy cabinet in a famous establishment in St. James’s Street. "Guarantee that?" he asked of the rather supercilious young gentleman in a frock coat who was doing the honours. "Certainly." It was then that Quinney chuckled. The young gentleman, quite unaware that he was entertaining a provincial dealer, said loftily: "It’s French. Came out of a French château in Touraine." "Signed?" "I think not. It’s signed all over as a bit of the finest Renaissance craftsmanship." Quinney bent down, still chuckling. "It is signed," he said, with conviction. "Really? Where, may I ask?" Quinney indicated a small, much-battered piece of oak. "Remove that," he observed quietly, "and you will find the signature under it." "Whose signature?" "The signature of a great artist who lives near Treguier in Brittany." "Lives? What do you mean?" Quinney met the young gentleman’s scornful eyes and held them. "I mean, my lad, that your master has here a very clever copy, signed where I say by the man who copied it, whom I know. I’ve not asked the price, but I’ll tell you this: if it’s genuine, it’s cheap at two thousand; if it’s a copy I can buy a dozen just like it at sixteen pounds apiece. Good-morning." After three days’ hard walking, Quinney summed up results as follows: There were three classes of dealers in London. The tip-toppers, with establishments in fashionable thoroughfares, who sold the best stuff at a fancy price; the men, whose name was Legion, who lived here, there, and everywhere, selling wares good, bad, and indifferent at a small profit; and the middle-men, who sold almost exclusively to the big dealers. "There is a place for me," said Quinney, with absolute conviction.