A noted bric-à-brac dealer entered the Export Office bringing a Della Robbia with him. According to custom when official inspection is sought, the bas-relief was packed ready for the permit and seal of the office. Taking off the lid of the case, the dealer handed the documents to the inspector to be signed. “You must take us for fools,” said the latter, struck by the beauty of the work. “Do you really think we allow such works to leave the country?” “Well, don’t say anything and I’ll explain things--look here.” The bas-relief was taken from the case and with a pocketknife the dealer scraped a piece of plaster from the apparently aged back, showing not only freshly baked clay but the mark of a well-known modern factory of ceramics. “Modern! I confess I should never have thought it.” “Keep our secret,” pleaded the bric-à-brac dealer. “You see they go to America.” Satisfied that his professional honour was safe with the dealer, who would naturally not expose the blunder, and not considering it within the sphere of his activity to see that Americans were not fooled as he himself had been, the inspector granted permission, provided the documents should be honestly endorsed by the declaration “modern.” Later on the dealer presented himself with a similar work. The case was hardly opened when the same inspector exclaimed, “Oh these Americans! Another cuckoo.” “Well, as you stop the genuine we have to content ourselves with sending off imitations,” observed the dealer with intentional flattery. “They seem to prosper,” laughed the inspector, signing the papers and sealing the case for expedition. Needless to explain, this time it was a genuine Della Robbia, sent off with all the requisite legal papers, and labelled by the man of law as a modern work. Some years ago an antiquary of Rome, the owner of a statue of fine Greek workmanship, knew that if the work should be presented to the Export Office, permission would be refused. The statue had been excavated in three separate parts and subsequently recomposed, and it was thought wise to take it apart again and send it off in that state. The head, the finest piece, was taken across the frontier as luggage by a tourist, the torso was sent out of Rome to get the permission from the office of another city, and the legs were the only part to leave the capital with free and unsuspecting permission from the Central Office.