An excellent idea
presented itself: some furniture ordered by his firm should carry it in
a sofa, and his partner should be advised by cipher letter to remove the
picture. J. B. Randolph would buy it, without doubt--no need to tell him
how it came into Shayne & Co.'s hands. They could swear they bought it
in London. Plausible stories of masterpieces discovered in out of the
way corners were easily enough manufactured. So these thoughts all being
to his utmost satisfaction, he went whistling down the street.
The Duke Scorpa at the same time was being driven cheerfully homeward.
That had been a stroke, that idea of pretending he was merely the
intermediary. He had got the picture for a loan of one hundred thousand,
and had one hundred and fifty thousand clear profit. There was nothing
to show his transaction with Sansevero. No money had passed between
them, not even a scrap of paper. He had torn up the prince's I. O. U.,
and that was all the evidence there had been. Christopher Shayne,
besides, was a shrewd man and reliable, and one who never had been
caught in a questionable transaction. To be sure, Scorpa had given
Sansevero his word (but again there was no proof), that he would let
him retrieve the picture at an advanced price that should be merely the
accrued compound interest on the money lent.
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