The auctioneer accompanied him, and Quinney soon found his picture, which was very dirty and inconspicuous. Old masters were not in his line, but he recognized the frame at once as being genuine—a fine specimen of carved wood, although much battered. The auctioneer said carelessly: "I had a gentleman staring at that picture this morning. You’re after the frame, I dare say." Quinney made no reply. He saw that a small portion of the dirty canvas had been rubbed. "Might look quite different if it was cleaned," said the auctioneer. "The other fellow did that with his handkerchief and a small bottle of stuff he carried in his pocket. I didn’t like to object. Colour comes out nicely!" "Who does it belong to?" "A stranger to me. I take everything as it comes. I’m in a small way of business, as you know, Mr. Quinney; but some nice stuff has passed through my hands." He plunged into an ocean of reminiscences, punctuating his remarks with lamentations of ignorance. "If I really knew. Suppose it’s a gift. You have it, Mr. Quinney. I have a sort of general knowledge of values, but it’s the special knowledge that picks up the big bargains." Quinney returned to his hotel. At the auction next day two or three country dealers, small men, with whom he had a nodding acquaintance, were bidding. The gentleman who was interested in the picture was present also, languidly indifferent to the proceedings. However, he became animated when the picture was put up as "a valuable Madonna and Child, the work of an old master." The gentleman bid a hundred for it, apparently to the surprise of the small dealers. "One hundred and twenty-five," said Quinney. The gentleman bent down to whisper a word to a man who stood next him, and then he stared hard at Quinney, with a slight frown upon his smooth forehead. "One hundred and fifty," he said quietly. Finally Quinney secured the picture for eleven hundred pounds, well pleased at having secured it so cheap. The rival bidder led him aside. "You are the famous dealer, Joseph Quinney?" Quinney smiled complacently. The gentleman continued in a whisper: "I expected to get that picture for a hundred pounds. You have fairly outbidden me, and I could not bid a farthing more to-day; but will you kindly tell me what you will take for your bargain?" "Sorry," said Quinney; "but I bought it on a commission for a well-known collector." "There is no more to be said," replied the other.