weeks over this job, and long before they are through with it, the picture will be in America."
"You may be right, Meester Gedge. But where's the 'arm in seeing what they can do?"
With the air of one whose faculties have been braced by a mental tonic, the old man shook his head decisively. "Mussewer Duponny," he said, in a slow voice which gave weight and value to each word, "I'm thinking with a little help from yourself and Mr. Thornton I can deal with this—this scoundrel much better than the police."
"At your sairvice, Meester Gedge," said Jules Duponnet, with a dry smile. He could not have been the man he was, had he remained insensitive to the depth of cunning which now transfigured the face of the old dealer. "But for Meester Thornton of course I cannot spick."
"You can't, of course," said the old fox, briskly. "But we'll go right now, and have a word with Mr. Thornton on the subject."
Like one in whom a change sudden and mysterious has been wrought, S. Gedge Antiques stepped through the house door into the passage, took his hat and coat from the peg, and his heavy knotted walking stick out of the rickety umbrella stand, put his head into the room next door and said, in a harsh tone to the polisher of chairs, "Boy, I'm going along as far as Mr. Thornton's, so you'd better keep an eye on the shop."
