“That’s the very man,” she exclaimed, pointing at the picture of a middle-aged gentleman in a plum-coloured coat, which, I seemed to remember, was unsigned but attributed—­without much confidence—­to the brush of Gonzales Coques.  “What an extraordinary thing!  I’ve broken my dream.”

In the twinkling of an eye Vandy’s importance was snatched from him, and the prophet’s mantle had fallen upon Adele.  Where, but a moment before, he had been strutting in all the pride of a proprietor, she held the stage.  More.  Neither our discomfited host nor his sisters could divine what was toward, and the fact that their guests crowded eagerly about Adele, encouraging her to “let them have it,” was more disconcerting than ever.

“It was in a garden,” said Adele, “a quiet sort, of place.  I think I was walking behind him.  I don’t know how I got there, but he didn’t see me.  All the same, he kept looking round, as if he was afraid he was being watched.  Presently we came to a place where there was a stone pedestal standing.  It wasn’t exactly a pillar—­it wasn’t high enough.  And it was too high for a seat.  Well, he stared at this for a moment; then he looked around again, very cautiously, and then—­it sounds idiotic, but he began to prod the turf with his stick.  At first he did it just casually, here and there:  but, after a little, he started prodding at regular intervals, methodically.  The ground was quite soft, and his stick seemed to go in like a skewer.  Suddenly he seemed to hear something or somebody, for he listened very carefully, and then walked on tiptoe to the pedestal and leaned up against it as if he were resting.  The next moment somebody—­some man in ordinary clothes came out of....”  She hesitated.  “I don’t know whether it was some bushes or a wall he came out of.  Some bushes, I guess.  Any way, he appeared, and—­don’t laugh—­gave him a green tomato.  Then I woke up.”

“And this is the man you saw?” cried Daphne, pointing.

Adele nodded.

“Dress and everything.  He was wearing the same plumed hat and that identical coat, buttoned all down the front, with the pockets low down on either side.  And I’ll never forget his face.  That’s a wonderful picture.  It’s life-like.”

“What an extraordinary thing!” said I. Then I turned to Vandy.  “Has this portrait ever been reproduced?”

He did not seem to hear me.

With dropped jaw and bulging eyes, the fellow was staring at Adele, staring....

Suddenly, as with an effort, he pulled himself together.

“Was that all you saw?” he said hoarsely.

Adele pondered.

“I think so,” she said slowly.  “Except that there were some words carved on the pedestal.  PER ...  IMP ...  PERIMP, ...  No.  That wasn’t it.  Something like that.  Not English.  I can’t remember.”

“Ah!”

Berry took up the running.

“You say the merchant was prodding the ground?” he said.