He could not leave until he had planned for work to go on during his absence. First he arranged with Valasco to identify as nearly as possible, and to appraise, the French and Italian pictures. Then he made an arrangement with Van Boschoven for the Dutch and Flemish; secured Drayton-Quinn for the English; and warned Dankmere not to bother or interfere with these temperamental and irascible gentlemen while in exercise of their professional duties. "Don't whistle, don't do abrupt skirt-dances, don't sing comic songs, don't obscure the air with cigar smoke, don't go to sleep on the sofa and snore, don't drink fizzes and rattle the ice in your glass----" "My God!" faltered his lordship, "do you mind if I breathe now and then?" "I'll be away a few days--Valasco is slow, and the others take their time. Let anybody come in who wants to, but don't sell anything until the experts report to me in writing----" "Suppose some chap rushes in with ten thousand----" "No!" "What?" "Certainly not. Chaps who rush in with any serious money at all will rush in again all the faster if you make them wait. Don't sell a picture--not even to Valasco or any of the experts----" "Suppose a charming lady----" "Now you understand, don't you? I wouldn't think of selling a single canvas until I have their reports and have made up my own mind that they're as nearly right as any expert can be who didn't actually see the artist paint the picture. The only trustworthy expert is the man who saw the picture painted--if you can believe his word." "But my dear Quarren," protested Dankmere, seriously bewildered--"how could any living expert ever have seen an artist, who died two hundred years ago, paint anything?" "Right," said Quarren solemnly; "the point is keenly taken. Ergo, there _are_ no real experts, only guessers. When Valasco _et al_ finish their guessing, I'll guess how near they have guessed correctly. Good-bye.... You _will_ be good, won't you, Dankmere?" "No fear. I'll keep my weather eye on the shop. Do you want me to sleep here?" "You'd better, I think. But don't have rowdy parties here, will you? And don't wander away and leave the door open. By George! I believe I'd better stay----" "Rot! Go on and take your vacation, old chap! Back in a week?" "Yes; or any time you wire me----" "Not I. I'll have a jolly time by myself." "Don't have too many men here in the evening. The smoke will get into those new curtains----" Dankmere, in his trousers and undershirt, stretched on the divan, laughed and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. Then, reaching forth he took a palm-leaf fan in one hand, a tall, frosty glass in the other, and applied both in a manner from which he could extract the most benefit. "Bon voyage!" he nodded to Quarren. "My duties and compliments and all that--and pick me out an heiress of sorts--there's a good fellow----"