A Womans Privilege

and the rest stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not be Italian noblemen, six different of their cracks to frame old and worthy.

But the colors are fresh and brilliant as if they were painted yesterday. And the rest story in back of these paintings, a story that began with a traveling art broker named John Winters of a casual trip to the picturesque Italian seaport of Venice, of the unbelievable stunning in his hotel room, when a quiet little artist named Julio Donate

put a quarter of a million dollars in the palm of his hand. The belief, of course, is a thousand dollars. I have to convince her, in your winter. Suppose I leave it with you for, say, 24 hours, so you can examine it.

It will be many, in your who will say it's Montaigne. I painted it myself. You will find me. This Montaigne is for the make to it.

It's just whirling with figures that you hang up the phone. phone, hurry across town toward the address to not elect you. The little shop in the Plots of Uncaping, a quarter of a million dollars in that briefcase on your arm, provided that the three people in the world who know the truth and briefly, with

three who know, there's always a chance. One might talk. You turn a corner into the Plots of, wondering the prickly head, the thought of that one, and the answer comes suddenly. A crowd is gathered at the front of the Nazi shop. What's the matter?

What happened here? Give him back, please. What is it, officer? What happened? It's for prior to the shop. It's in your do-not-key. You, Potter? Yes. Thanks for the offer, Potter, but I won't need the money now.