Part 46 (2/2)

He hunted, peering through a case which apparently contained some dozens of cards, finally handing the Count the following:

ISIDOR LEVI Fine Art Expert _London and Paris._

Count de Guise hesitated, glanced at his caller, glanced at his watch, cleared his throat--and still hesitated.

”If I approve,” continued 'Isidor Levi,' ”I will hand you a cheque on the Credit Lyonnais.”

The Count bowed.

”Enter, M. Levi. Your name, of course, is known to me.”

Indeed it was a name familiar enough in art circles.

Dr. Lepardo entered.

The room into which the Count ushered him was most magnificently appointed. The visitor's feet sank into the carpet as into banked moss.

Beautiful furniture stood about. Pictures by eminent artists graced the walls. Statuettes, vases, busts, choice antiques, were everywhere. It was the room of a wealthy connoisseur, of an aesthete whose delicacy of taste bordered upon the effeminate. The doctor stared hard at the Count without permitting the latter to observe that he did so. With his hands thrust deep in the sack-like pockets of his inverness he drifted from treasure to treasure--uninvited, from room to room--like some rudderless craft. The Count followed. In his handsome face it might be read that he resented the att.i.tude of M. Levi, who behaved as though he found himself in the gallery of a dealer. Suddenly, before a Van Dyck portrait, the visitor cried:

”Ah, a forgery, m'sieur! Spurious.”

Count de Guise leapt round upon him with perfect fury blazing in his blue eyes. The veins had sprung into prominence upon his forehead, and one throbbed--a virile blue cord--upon his left temple.

”M'sieur!”

He seemed to choke. His sudden pa.s.sion was volcanic--terrible.

Dr. Lepardo, still peering, seemed not to heed him; then quickly:

”Ah, I apologise, I most sincerely apologise. I was misled by the unusual tone of the brown. But--no, it is undoubted. None other than Van Dyck painted that ruff.”

The Count glared and quivered, his fine nostrils distended, a while longer, but swallowed his rage and bowed in acknowledgment of the apology. Dr. Lepardo was off again upon his voyage of discovery, drifting from picture to vase, from statuette to buhl cabinet.

”M'sieur,” he rumbled, peering around at de Guise, who now stood by the fireplace of the room to which the visitor's driftings had led him, his hands locked behind him. ”I think I can propose you for the entire collection. Is it agreeable?”

The Count bowed.

”Ah!”

M. Levi seated himself at the writing-table--for the room was a beautifully appointed study--and produced a cheque-book.

”Twenty thousand pounds, English?”

The Count laughed contemptuously.

”Twenty-two?”

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