other capacity so hard to define.

Dr. Lepardo was studying the following paragraph marked by Miss
Maitland:

FOR SALE.--Entire furniture, antique, of large flat, comprising
pieces by Sheraton, Chippendale, Boule, etc. Paintings by Greuze,
Murillo, Van Dyck, also modern masters. Pottery, Chinese, Sevres,
old English, etc. A collection of 500 pieces of early pewter, etc.,
etc., etc. The whole valued at over L30,000.

The torpedo-like car had dropped him at Bedford Court Mansions, and,
shuffling up the steps into the hall, he addressed himself to the
porter.

"Ah, my friend, has the Count de Guise gone out again?"

"I have not seen him go out, sir."

"Not since you saw him come in?"

"Not since then, sir--no."

"About half-past seven he came in, I think? Yes, about half-past."

"Quite right, sir."

Again the odd gleam came into the doctor's eyes, as it had come when, by
one of his amazing leading questions he had learnt that Lawrence
Guthrie's father resided in Constantinople. The doctor mounted to the
first floor. He was about to ring the bell of No. 59b, when another idea
struck him. He descended and again addressed the porter.

"The Count must be resting. He does not reply. He has, of course,
discharged his servants?"

"Yes, sir. He leaves England next week."

"Ah, he is alone."

Upstairs once more.

He rang three times before the door was opened to him by a tall, slight
man, arrayed in a blue silk dressing-gown. He had a most pleasant face,
and wore his moustache and beard according to the latest Parisian mode.
He looked about thirty years of age, was fair, blue-eyed, and handsome.

"I am sorry to trouble you so late, Count," said the old doctor, in
perfect French; "but I think I can make you an offer for some, if not
all, of your collection."

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 v