ured man. "Do
you wish--"

"No, I don't!" said Garstin. "We'll leave it at that?"

Again he flung out his arm towards the mutilated canvas.

"I made a bargain with the fellow whose portrait that was. I was to
paint it and exhibit it, and then he was to have it. Well, I suppose
we're about quits. I can't exhibit it, but I'm damned if he can make
much money out of it. We're quits!"

Sir Seymour turned to the inspector.

"Well, inspector, I'm very sorry to have given you this trouble for
nothing," he said. "I know you're a busy man. You take the cab back to
Scotland Yard. Here--you must allow me to pay the shot. I'll stay on for
a few minutes. And"--he glanced towards Garstin--"by the way, we may
as well keep this matter between us, if Mr. Garstin is good enough to
agree."

"I agree! I agree!" said Garstin.

"The fact is there's a woman in it, quite a girl. We don't want a
scandal. It would distress her. And I suppose this is really--this
outrage--I suppose it is purely a matter for Mr. Garstin to decide
whether he wishes any sequel to it or not."

"Oh, certainly," said the inspector. "If Mr. Garstin doesn't wish any
action to be taken--"

"I don't! That's flat!"

"Very well," said the inspector. "Good morning."

"Back in a moment," said Garstin to Sir Seymour. And he went downstairs
to let the inspector out.

"So that's how it ends!" said Sir Seymour to himself when he was alone.
"That's how it ends!"

And he went over to what had been Arabian's portrait, and gazed at
the hole which surmounted the magnificent torso. He had no doubt that
Arabian had gone out of Miss Van Tuyn's life for ever. Probably, almost
certainly, he had returned to the hotel on the previous evening, had
been given the note Miss Van Tuyn had written to dictation, and also
a hint from that very discreet and capable fellow, Henriques, of what
might happen if he persisted in trying to force himself upon her. And
then he had come to the decision which had led to the outrage in the
studio. Where was he now? No longer in Rose Tree Gardens if Sir Seymour
knew anything of men.

"The morning boat to Paris, and--the underworld!" Sir Seymour muttered
to himself.

"Not much to look at now, is it?" said Garstin's voice behind him.

He turned round quickly.

Garstin was gazing at his ruined masterpiece with a curious twisted
smile.

"What can one say?" said Sir Seymour. "When Horridge was here I thought:
'When he's gone I'll tell Mr. Garst