We'll only stay a minute or two."

"And you never know," said Jill, "we might see something priceless."

Jonah shook his head.

"Depend upon it," he said, "the oleographs have gone to Christie's, same
as the fumed oak. Only the dud stuff's left. However, have it your own
way." With a sigh, he let in the clutch. "If you're not there by a
quarter past one, I shall begin."

Jill slid an arm through mine, which she squeezed excitedly.

"I'm sure we shall find something, Boy. I just feel it. It always
happens like this. You see, it isn't as if we were looking for a sale.
We've just run right into one. And last night I dreamed about
cretonnes."

"That settles it," said I, as the Rolls glided out of our way and we
started to cross the road. "All the same, Jonah's probably right. But I
love a sale. I'm afraid it's curiosity more than anything."

Catalogues were handed us at the front door, and we passed into a fine
square hall, where a dresser and a large gate-table, each conspicuously
labelled, declared that the late occupant was a man of taste.

"Two very fine pieces, sir," said a voice. "Coming up this afternoon." I
turned to see a short stout man in a 1907 bowler and two overcoats,
which he wore open, regarding the furniture with an appraising look.
With difficulty he extracted a card from an inside pocket. "If you're