That vineyard, for instance, with those antiquities. A good many friends of his in the States had made their pile out of salted gold mines. Why not salt a vineyard? Oh yes; everything fitted in beautifully. The remoteness of that vineyard ... a town like Locri was obviously unsafe, too public a place for such important discoveries. The conscientious Sir Herbert would certainly want to make enquiries on the spot--enquiries which would prove that no Faun had ever been found there. And that would ruin everything. Therefore the statue had been "carried" to the vineyard in ancient times by "some young and ardent lover of art." Carried, ha, ha! His knowledge of human nature made him doubt whether the Locri Faun had ever in its life made a further journey than to Caloveglia's shady courtyard from that mysterious, dusty shed at the back of his house. Or the Demeter either. That "sadly mutilated head" was a feeler--a rehearsal. They both came "from the same workshop." Excellent! That shed was the workshop--the birthplace of these two antiques; the Count himself their old Hellenic creator. Andrea, no doubt, was the secret. These art experts! Here was Street, one of the best of them, a man of celebrity in his department, solemnly pronouncing for the authenticity of the fake--in the full and innocent conviction that it was really authentic. A sucking babe. This man, he could see by his simple society face, had not even made an arrangement with the Count as to a commission for himself in the event of a purchase being concluded. He was satisfied with his salary. These experts--what a crowd of fools they were! Especially the honest ones. None the less, he was delighted with Sir Herbert's opinion. It was exactly what he wanted. For he meant to help the County who, he was sure, would never accept a cent from him save under a pretext like that of the sale of the Faun. He loved old Caloveglia. There was something clean and purposeful about him. His friendship with such a man filled up what he knew to be a void in his own equipment as citizen of the world. And the count was working--was lying--for a worthy purpose: a daughter's dowry. For that reason alone he was deserving of assistance.