"Look here," said Adolph Keller, in the midst of his prattle. "I've taken rather a fancy to this bit of a thing. Suppose you let me have it. I'll give you a landscape in exchange; I've one or two that are not so bad, and you shall have your pick. Moreover," and he fixed June with a steady eye, "you shall have your sovereign as well."
She shook her head tensely. Inclination now wished to tell him the fabulous worth of the picture; but prudence said no. The calculated way in which he had lied was proof enough that he knew its value already. She held out her hand. In a voice dry and choking she said: "Please give it to me. I ought to be going."
He gazed at her with the eye of a condor. "Much better take what you can get for it, hadn't you? It'll be a difficult thing to sell, you know. This is quite a fair offer."
"Give it me, please," June gasped miserably.
"Don't be a little fool."
The tone was like the closing of a door. She knew at once that he had not the remotest intention of giving it back to her. And what followed immediately upon the words made the fact only too clear. He laid the picture on a table some little distance away, and then pouring out a quantity of spirit he drank it neat. His next act was to produce a case from which he took forth a pound note.
"Here you are," he said roughly. "Take this and
