“Wot yer mean?” the woman demanded.  “Here you are—­lot number 17—­’Interesting oil painting of the Right Honorable W. E. Gladstone, artist unknown.’”

Burton thrust the catalogue away from him with a sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admitted, “that the description can scarcely be said to be entirely accurate.  As a matter of fact, it is a colored lithograph, very cleverly done but quite valueless.  I dare say you would find that there are thousands of them exactly like it.”

The woman stared at him suspiciously.

“Why, your guvnor’s just told me that the reserve upon it’s two guineas!” she exclaimed.

“Mr. Waddington must have made a mistake,” Burton replied, with a sinking heart.

“Look here,” the woman insisted, “what is it worth, anyway?”

“A few pence for the frame,” Burton answered, hurrying off.

The woman drew her shawl about her shoulders, threw her catalogue upon the floor and made her way towards the door.

“Not going to stay here to be swindled!” she declared loudly, looking around her.  “Colored lithograph, indeed, and put down in the catalogue as an interesting oil painting!  They must think us folks don’t know nothing.  Cheating’s the word, I say—­cheating!”

The woman’s eye met the eye of Mr. Waddington as she stood for a moment in the doorway before taking her departure.  She raised her fist and shook it.

“Bah!” she exclaimed.  “Ought to be ashamed of yourself!  You and your h’oil paintings!”

Mr. Waddington was too far off to hear her words but the character of her farewell was unmistakable!  He glanced suspiciously towards his chief clerk.  Burton, however, had at that moment been button-holed by a fidgety old gentleman who desired to ask him a few questions.

“I am a little puzzled, sir,” the old gentleman said, confidentially, “about the absolute authenticity of this chippendale suite—­lot number 101 in the catalogue.  This sale is—­er—­um—­advertised as being—­” the old gentleman turned over the pages of the catalogue quickly—­“a sale of the effects of the late Doctor Transome.  That’s so, eh?”

“I believe the announcement is to that effect,” Burton confessed, hesitatingly.

“Quite so,” the little old gentleman continued.  “Now I knew Dr. Transome intimately, and he was, without the slightest doubt, a rare judge of old furniture.  I wouldn’t mind following him anywhere, or accepting his judgment about anything.  He was very set upon not having anything in his house that was not genuine.  Now under any other circumstances, mind you, I should have had my doubts about that suite, but if you can assure me that it came from Dr. Transome’s house, why, there’s no more to be said about it.  I’m a bidder.”

Burton shook his head gravely.

“I am sorry,” he declared, “but the frontispiece of the catalogue is certainly a little misleading.  To tell you the truth, sir, there are very few articles here from Dr. Transome’s house at all.  The bulk of his effects were distributed among relatives.  What we have here is a portion of the kitchen and servant’s bedroom furniture.”