"You might have brought Dan with you."
"I might also have put him in a cage," Jeff said wryly. "And if I kept
him there for one, three, or ten years, he'd get out some time. When he
did, he'd still go back and hunt whoever shot his father."
"How old are you, Mr. Tarrant?"
"Going on nineteen."
"Would it be impertinent to ask your background?"
Jeff said quietly, "I lived in an orphanage until I was a little past
fourteen. Then I ran away and worked at various jobs. Since quitting the
last one, I've been a peddler."
"I see. And what do you hope to gain by sending this youngster back to
us?"
Jeff still spoke quietly. "Sleep, easy sleep at night because I did not
leave him alone when he had no one else to whom he could turn."
"What does Dan think about it?"
"I haven't told him," Jeff grinned, "but I have a pact with him. Dan has
agreed to do anything I say."
"Why?"
"He likes peddling, and he has an idea that he's going to throw in with
me. I told him he couldn't unless he minded me."
"What are your plans for the future?"
"I haven't decided," Jeff said seriously. "But I like Smithville, and if
things continue to get as well as they've started out, in the next three
or four years I'll be able to build up a good business right in
Smithville."
"I see. Do you have any ideas about Dan's 'throwing in' with you?"
"Yes I do," Jeff confessed. "I like him and I'd like to have him;
Tarrant and Blazer would be a mighty good team. But first he must have
an education."
"Why?"
"So he'll know what I have never learned. I read as much as I can, but
that's not as good as solid groundwork in school."
"If you pay for his education, would you insist on his later services?"
"No, he can choose his own way."
"You're willing to be responsible for him on such a basis?"
"Yes, sir. Wh--what is your tuition fee?"
"Mr. Blazer paid--" Mr. Nelson named half the sum Jeff had expected.
"What do you wish to have me do?"
"I want only your written confirmation that Dan is in my care."
"May I also say that you are to return him to us by September
fourteenth?"
"Certainly."
"All right. Miss Jackson, may I borrow your desk?"
The confirming letter in an inside pocket, Jeff strode happily out of
the school. It had all been much simpler than he had thought possible,
but Mr. Nelson was an understanding person. Jeff knew that he himself
had undergone one of the most severe examinations of his life--and had
passed it. Relieved about Dan, he could now give his whole attention to
the business at hand.
It was a long way to the Kennard, but Jeff did not want to hail or phone
for a taxi as yet because the neighborhood, and the stores he had seen,
interested him. He walked back the way he had come, saw the stores
ahead, and halted in front of the Murchison Galleries.
He wanted to assure himself that he had seen what he thought he had
seen, and it was there. In the window, somehow accentuated by the very
simplicity of its surroundings, was a tapestry that depicted a bowl of
crocuses in bloom. Though he did not know a great deal about tapestries,
Jeff realized that this was a very fine one. But mentally he compared it
to Granny's, and decided that hers was better. Jeff entered the
galleries.
Though only fair-sized, the arrangement of the interior loaned an
illusion of spaciousness and its air was one of quiet refinement. There
were paintings on the walls and others on easels, and without examining
them too closely, Jeff knew that the way they were placed added much to
their effectiveness. He turned to meet the man coming toward him and was
greeted with a pleasant, "Good morning."
He said it as though he were welcoming a guest into his house, and Jeff
responded in kind. "Good morning. I think you may save my life!"
"Indeed?" The man arched his brows. "You hardly seem on the verge of
expiring."
"I really am, though. You do know something about tapestries?"
"A bit." The man smiled indulgently. "What do you wish?"
Jeff unrolled Granny's _The Last Supper_ and held it up for inspection.
"I _must_ find the exact duplicate of this."
"May I see it?"
The man took the tapestry, felt its texture, turned it over and examined
it at arm's length. His eyes hardened ever so slightly. Lowering the
tapestry, he wrinkled his brow in thought.
"Perhaps we may help you, Mr.--"
"Tarrant," Jeff supplied. "Jeffrey Tarrant."
"I'm Raold Murchison. You wish us to find a duplicate of this?"
"If you can," Jeff wanted twenty-five dollars but decided he might as
well try for more. "It's worth a hundred dollars."
"How soon must you have it, Mr. Tarrant?"
"Tomorrow noon's the deadline," Jeff said ruefully. "Just think! I've
been in Ackerton almost a week before I found you."
"Where are you staying?"
"The Kennard. Room sixteen."
"May we retain this until tomorrow at noon?"
"Of course, naturally you will--"
"Naturally. I would not ask you to leave it without a receipt. Will you
be at the Kennard at noon?"
"I'll make it a point to be there."
"I shall phone you then, Mr. Tarrant, and advise you concerning our
success or failure."
He gave Jeff a receipt and noted his name and room number. Jeff left the
galleries, knowing that he had taken a gamble. But who hoped to win had
to take chances. With nothing else to do, he gave the rest of the day
and most of the next morning to wandering about Ackerton. He returned to
his room at twenty to twelve, and exactly twenty minutes later his phone
rang.
"Mr. Tarrant," it was the desk clerk, "there's a Mr. Murchison here to
see you."
"Send him in."
Jeff opened the door for Raold Murchison, and no matter where he stood,
he would still be master of the Murchison Galleries.
"I came in person, Mr. Tarrant, because that seemed best."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, we succeeded in locating the exact duplicate of your tapestry."
Jeff gave thanks for his ability to wear a poker face when such was in
order. If the Murchison Galleries had located the twin of Granny's _The
Last Supper_, Granny had made it. And Raold Murchison wouldn't even know
how to talk to her.
Murchison smiled tentatively. "In the process of finding the duplicate,
we also found a customer who is enamoured of the pair."
"Those things happen."
"I assume that you have a customer who will pay you at least two hundred
dollars?"
Jeff made no comment. It was Murchison's privilege to assume anything he
wished. The art dealer continued, "I am prepared to offer you a hundred
and twenty-five dollars for yours."
Jeff's heart leaped but his face revealed nothing. Obviously, somewhere
among his wealthy neighbors, Raold Murchison, just as Jeff had hoped,
had known the exact person who would appreciate such a tapestry.
Naturally, he would sell it for more than the price offered Jeff, but he
was entitled to a profit, too. Hiding his elation, Jeff frowned.
"It isn't the price I thought I'd get."
"But you cannot sell yours without a duplicate?"
Jeff looked away without answering. Murchison waited expectantly.
Finally Jeff looked back. "Well, all right," he agreed.
"How about taking another tapestry?" Jeff asked.
"Oh, you have another?"
Jeff showed him _The Fall of Satan_. Raold Murchison examined it and
turned to Jeff.
"A fair enough piece and I'll speculate. Shall we say fifty dollars?"
"Let's say seventy-five?"
"I'm taking a chance but--Will you accept my personal check?"
"Certainly."
Raold Murchison wrote a check and waved it in the air until it dried.
"If you should be in Ackerton again, Mr. Tarrant, the Murchison
Galleries are ever ready to be of service."
He left and Jeff leaped high to click his heels in the air. He had hoped
to get fifty dollars for both tapestries. He had two hundred and a
strong hint that more tapestries would be welcome. He fairly danced down
to the desk.
"When is the next train for Delview?" he asked.