Jeff unrolled Granny's _The Last Supper_ and held it up for inspection. "I _must_ find the exact duplicate of this." "May I see it?" The man took the tapestry, felt its texture, turned it over and examined it at arm's length. His eyes hardened ever so slightly. Lowering the tapestry, he wrinkled his brow in thought. "Perhaps we may help you, Mr.--" "Tarrant," Jeff supplied. "Jeffrey Tarrant." "I'm Raold Murchison. You wish us to find a duplicate of this?" "If you can," Jeff wanted twenty-five dollars but decided he might as well try for more. "It's worth a hundred dollars." "How soon must you have it, Mr. Tarrant?" "Tomorrow noon's the deadline," Jeff said ruefully. "Just think! I've been in Ackerton almost a week before I found you." "Where are you staying?" "The Kennard. Room sixteen." "May we retain this until tomorrow at noon?" "Of course, naturally you will--" "Naturally. I would not ask you to leave it without a receipt. Will you be at the Kennard at noon?" "I'll make it a point to be there." "I shall phone you then, Mr. Tarrant, and advise you concerning our success or failure." He gave Jeff a receipt and noted his name and room number. Jeff left the galleries, knowing that he had taken a gamble. But who hoped to win had to take chances. With nothing else to do, he gave the rest of the day and most of the next morning to wandering about Ackerton. He returned to his room at twenty to twelve, and exactly twenty minutes later his phone rang. "Mr. Tarrant," it was the desk clerk, "there's a Mr. Murchison here to see you." "Send him in." Jeff opened the door for Raold Murchison, and no matter where he stood, he would still be master of the Murchison Galleries. "I came in person, Mr. Tarrant, because that seemed best." "Indeed?" "Yes, we succeeded in locating the exact duplicate of your tapestry." Jeff gave thanks for his ability to wear a poker face when such was in order. If the Murchison Galleries had located the twin of Granny's _The Last Supper_, Granny had made it. And Raold Murchison wouldn't even know how to talk to her. Murchison smiled tentatively. "In the process of finding the duplicate, we also found a customer who is enamoured of the pair." "Those things happen." "I assume that you have a customer who will pay you at least two hundred dollars?" Jeff made no comment. It was Murchison's privilege to assume anything he wished. The art dealer continued, "I am prepared to offer you a hundred and twenty-five dollars for yours." Jeff's heart leaped but his face revealed nothing. Obviously, somewhere among his wealthy neighbors, Raold Murchison, just as Jeff had hoped, had known the exact person who would appreciate such a tapestry. Naturally, he would sell it for more than the price offered Jeff, but he was entitled to a profit, too. Hiding his elation, Jeff frowned. "It isn't the price I thought I'd get." "But you cannot sell yours without a duplicate?"