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 "I won't trouble you; I'll just take it with me."

"Certainly, sir; and the price? You said eighty, I think?"

"One hundred, I believe, was it not?"

"Yes, yes; my mistake. I'll have it done up carefully, sir. What name, please?"

"Er—Mr. Smith."

Twenty minutes later Miles walked into Hunter's apartment carrying a three-by-two picture swathed in brown wrapping paper. After the greetings were over, and Bistre had chewed Miles's hand to his heart's content, Hunter looked curiously at the object.

"What you got there?" he asked. "A picture?"

"Yes, it's a Christmas present to myself. I'll show it to you after dinner."