"This is my card," said the stranger. "I shall be happy to give you a banker’s reference." He named a well-known bank, but Quinney was quite satisfied with the name and address on the card. His visitor was an army officer, a Major Fraser, and he belonged to a famous Service Club. Somewhat to his disappointment, the two Dutch pictures fetched a price beyond the limit imposed by the Major, who dropped in next day and expressed his regrets. He was so civil and genial that Quinney hoped to have the honour of serving him on some future occasion. The Major glanced at the sanctuary and before leaving paid ten pounds for a small Bow figure, and ordered it to be sent to the Savoy Hotel. After he had gone, Quinney found a letter addressed to Major Archibald Fraser, of Loch Tarvie, Inverness, N.B. He sent back the letter with the Bow figure, and he was curious enough to look up Major Archibald Fraser in Kelly’s _Handbook to the Titled, Landed, and Official Classes_. He discovered, to his satisfaction, that the Major owned two properties in Scotland, and was a Justice of the Peace. He had married the daughter of a well-known Scotch magnate. Quinney chuckled and rubbed his hands. The right sort were finding their way to Soho Square at last. After this the Major dropped in again and again, always in search of knowledge, which Quinney supplied with increasing pleasure. In a word, the pigeon was ready for plucking. During his next visit the Major spoke with enthusiasm of a picture he had discovered in Dorset. He assured Quinney that the picture was a genuine Murillo. Then he pulled a bundle of notes out of his pocket, handed twenty pounds to Quinney, and delivered the following speech: "I must go to Inverness to-night," he said regretfully. "My factor has wired for me about the letting of a forest of mine. Take this money on account of expenses, go to Dorchester, do yourself well—there is an excellent inn there, and a few bottles left of some ’68 port. To-morrow there will be a sale at a small auction mart in the town. This picture will be offered. Here’s a photograph of it. Buy it for me. In three days I shall be back in town." He was hurrying away when Quinney stopped him. Queer notions of business these army gentlemen had, to be sure! "What am I to bid for the picture, Major?" "I’ll go to fifteen hundred. I shouldn’t be furious if you paid a hundred more. Wire to Loch Tarvie! Bye-bye!" He was away before Quinney could get in another word. "Thruster, and no error!" murmured Quinney to himself. He travelled to Dorchester that afternoon and paid a visit to the auction mart before dinner. The auctioneer knew him, and expressed surprise at seeing him, for he was selling only job lots. "Nothing to interest you, Mr. Quinney." "Perhaps not. I’ll have a squint round as I am here."