Sereno Hornblower did not look the part.  His reputation led one to expect a sort of cross between Uriah Heep and Sherlock Holmes, but there was nothing secretive or insinuating about his appearance.  He was a bluff and hearty man of middle age, rather heavy-set, fresh-faced and clean-shaven, and with very bright blue eyes—­evidently a man with a good digestion and a comfortable conscience.  Had I met him on Broadway, I should have taken him for a ripe and finished comedian.  There was about him an air which somehow reminded me of Joseph Jefferson—­perhaps it was his bright blue eyes.  It may have been this very appearance of bluff sincerity and honest downrightness which accounted for his success.

We shook hands, and he sat down and plunged at once, without an instant’s hesitation, into the business which had brought him.  Looking back at it, understanding as I do now the delicate nature of that business, I admire more and more that bluff readiness; though the more I think of it, the more I am convinced that he had thought out definitely beforehand precisely what he was going to say.  The man who can carry through a carefully premeditated scene with an air of complete unpremeditation has an immense advantage.

“Mr. Lester,” he began, “I understand that you are the administrator of the estate of the late Philip Vantine?”

“Our firm is,” I corrected.

“But you, personally, have been attending to his business?”

“Yes.”

“He was a collector of old furniture, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“And on his last trip to Europe, from which he returned only a few days ago, he purchased of Armand & Son, of Paris, a Boule cabinet?”

I could not repress a start of astonishment.

“Are you acting for Armand & Son?” I queried.

“Not at all.  I am acting for a lady whom, for the present, we will call Madame X.”

The thought flashed through my mind that Madame X. and the mysterious Frenchwoman might be one and the same person.  Then I put aside the idea as absurd.  Sereno Hornblower would never accept such a client.

“Mr. Vantine did buy such a cabinet,” I said.

“And it is in your possession?”

“There is at his residence a Boule cabinet which was shipped him from Paris, but, only a few hours before his death, Mr. Vantine assured me that it was not the one he had purchased.”

“You mean that a mistake had been made in the shipment?”

“That is what we supposed, and a cablegram from Armand & Son has since confirmed it.”

Mr. Hornblower pondered this for a moment.

“Where is the cabinet which Mr. Vantine did buy?” he asked at last.

“I have no idea.  Perhaps it is still in Paris.  But I am expecting a representative of the Armands to call very soon to straighten things out.”

Again my companion fell silent, and sat rubbing his chin absently.