Freddy enjoyed the sale thoroughly. She wondered, however, how long it would be before the wooden box of books would be offered.

But Hector’s message had been received by Mr Elliot, who had passed it on to Mr Maybee, and it was not until half-past four that it appeared. By that time Hector was standing at the back of the crowd.

“A box of books, ladies and gentlemen. I cannot offer you a more exact description. As you know, Dr Savage’s library was given away yesterday, according to his own wish, to the clergy of Salterton.” (There was some laughter here, which Mr Maybee rebuked with his eye.) “These few remaining books were discovered in the Doctor’s vault after that disposal. Anyone who wishes a sentimental souvenir of a great scholar and gentleman cannot do better than acquire this lot. What am I bid?.. Come along, there’s a spice of mystery about this box; you don’t know what you’ll get…What do I hear? Who’ll say a dollar for a starter? A dollar, a dollar, a dollar—do I hear a dollar?”

“Fifty cents,” said Freddy, and blushed fiercely as people turned to look at her.

“I have fifty. Who’ll say a dollar? A dollar for the mystery box. Come on, you can’t lose. At least ten books here, each one worth a dollar apiece. A dollar, a dollar, a dollar. Aha, I have a dollar. Thank you sir.”

Freddy turned towards the bidder. Old Mackilwraith! What did he want books for? He didn’t look as though he ever read anything but examination papers. Except menus, she thought spitefully. She caught Mr Maybee’s eye, and nodded firmly.

Two; two, two. I have two dollars for the mystery box.”

Hey, thought Freddy; I meant another fifty cents.

Three; three; three. The gentleman at the back offers me three.”

Freddy nodded again.

Hector was quite as much annoyed as Freddy. What did she want with those books? Should he hurry to her and tell her that he was buying them for her sister? But the bidding was moving too quickly. The box was now at ten dollars, and the bid was Freddy’s. He nodded again. Eleven dollars! It was ridiculous.

Mr Maybee was delighted. It was such odd contests at this time which made his life a pleasure, and picked up the sums which he could not realize from old-fashioned dining-room sets and scabrous old couches. The bidding proceeded briskly, and he knew that he had two stubborn people on his hook.

The box now stood at eighteen dollars. As Hector raised it to nineteen, Freddy made a great decision. She had only twenty dollars, but she could not be beaten; she had to have the box, now. She would simply go on, and explain to Daddy how matters had stood. Surely he would understand. He wouldn’t want her to be beaten in public, like this. And even if he didn’t understand he would have to pay up; he couldn’t let her go to jail. People would say he had neglected her, and make a delinquent of her.

“Twenty,” said she, boldly.

“Twenty-one,” said Hector, and his face was flushed so deeply that it seemed in danger of going quite black.

On the bidding went until Freddy was at twenty-eight. She faltered. Thirty dollars was a terrible sum of money to pay for a box of—what? It might be old hymn-books for all she knew. Her eyeballs were very hot, and she was afraid that she might cry. But she wouldn’t. She closed her lips firmly and looked down at the grass.

“I have twenty-nine. Twenty-nine dollars in this epic contest between two people who really know their literature! Do I hear thirty? All through at twenty-nine? Another dollar may do the trick! Am I all through at twenty-nine?”

Hector hated Freddy with the deadly hate of a man who had been made a fool of by a petty gangster, and who was now, twenty-four hours later, being made a fool of by a child. Hector was not mean, but the circumstances of his life had made him careful with money; it was the sinew of every success he had ever known. Fifty dollars to Pimples Buckle and now, twenty-nine dollars for these books! Even the children of the Webster family, it appeared, had long purses. But he had beaten her!

“Ah, I have thirty! Thank you sir. Thirty; thirty; thirty. Will you say thirty-one?”

Hector said thirty-one almost without thinking, as he sought the new bidder. There he was. A Jew! Hector became anti-Semitic in a fraction of a second.

The new bidder was, quite plainly, a Jew. A calm, bold man with a cigar, he had been unnoticed in the crowd until this moment.

The bidding rose, dollar by dollar, as Hector sweat nervous drops which seemed to draw his strength from him. The books were with the stranger, at forty. On Hector plunged, and a dreadful headache seized him. The crowd was delighted. Mr Maybee almost sang.

The books were with Hector at forty-nine. The stranger bobbed his head. Hector could bear no more. He was beset by fiends. In a blasphemous moment he permitted himself not to care whether Griselda had Victorian novels to read or not.

“Sold at fifty, to the gentleman with the cigar!”

There was a flutter of applause, mingled with some sounds of disapproval. The contest for the books had been enlivening, but a Salterton audience was not sure that it was suitable that the victory should go to a stranger. It was widely felt that the Jew, though a bold bidder, had shown himself a little too pushing. There were few things to be sold after the box of books, and by five o’clock most of the crowd had gone.

When the unknown bidder sought out the clerk after the sale, to pay his money and claim his books, he found Hector and Freddy waiting for him.

“Do you mind telling me why you wanted that box?” said Hector, more angrily than was wise.

“Surely you know why,” said the stranger, coolly.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why did you bid on it yourself?”

“I wanted those books for a special purpose.”

“And so do I,” said the stranger. It was at this moment that Valentine joined them. She too wanted to know why so much had been bid for a box to which she had given no thought.

“Oh, surely you know,” said the stranger. It took the three of them a few minutes to convince him that they knew nothing at all about it, and had not given the box more than a cursory examination. His eyelids drooped a little, and he smiled.

“You really ought to be more careful,” he said to Valentine. “Let me show you what I mean.”

He reached into the box and pulled out a package, which he unwrapped.

“You see,” said he; “Under Two Flags, in three volumes, published by Chapman and Hall in 1867; in very good condition. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing,” said Valentine. “It’s by Ouida, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is quite a valuable book. Now look at this: East Lynne, by Mrs Henry Wood; published by Tinsley in 1861. Very nice.”

“Valuable?” asked Freddy.

“Not so valuable as the other, by a long shot. But worth about a hundred and fifty dollars.”

There was a heavy silence. Young Mr Maybee had joined the group, and his nice blue eyes opened very wide at the mention of this sum.

“But you really should have been careful of this,” said the stranger, unwrapping three more volumes. “You see: Lady Audley’s Secret; the author’s name is not given, but it was M. E. Braddon; published by Skeet in 1862. This really is a treasure.”

“How much?” It was Valentine who spoke this time.

“Hard to say. At a rough guess I would put it at about twenty-five hundred dollars. I spotted them at once when I was looking around yesterday. Pure luck, or perhaps flair; I’m here for a brief holiday, but I never take complete holidays. I am sorry about this, but if you had wanted to keep it you should not have put it up at auction, should you?”

Neither Valentine nor Mr Maybee had anything to say. The stranger transferred the books to a briefcase which he carried, and in doing so revealed an envelope which lay at the bottom of the box. It was addressed to Valentine in her grandfather’s hand. She read it at once.