Cowed, Smarlinghue's voice dropped to a mumble, and he let the torn
canvas slip from his fingers to the floor.

Clancy laughed gruffly, pulled another chair to the opposite side of the
table, sat down himself, and eyed Smarlinghue coldly for a moment.

"Sold it, eh?" he observed grimly. "How much were you going to
get for it?"

A cunning gleam flashed in Smarlinghue's eyes--and vanished instantly.
He wet his lips with his tongue again.

"Ten dollars," he said hoarsely.

Clancy brushed aside the litter on the table, and nonchalantly laid down
a ten-dollar bill.

With a sharp little cry that brought on a fit of coughing, Smarlinghue
stretched out his hand for the money eagerly.

Clancy drew the money back out of reach.

"Oh, no, nothing like that!" he drawled unpleasantly. "Don't make the
mistake of taking me for a fool. I'm not buying any ten-cent art
treasures at ten dollars a throw!"

Smarlinghue's eyes remained greedily riveted on the ten-dollar note. He
began to twine his hands together once more.

"I don't know what you mean," he muttered tremulously.