The Stratagem and Other Stories

“Perhaps Monsieur will find there what he requires,” he said coldly. Furtively and hurriedly, his glance divided between the forbidden book and the shop-door, his only safe- guard from intrusion the thought that nobody who en- tered would be in a position to throw stones at a fellow- culprit, Theodore Bugg turned over the pages. The book began mildly enough with the winged Vic- tory and only entered the rapids with La Gioconda. Thence, Niagra-like, one plunge to the abyss—the Venus de Milo. The blood flame to his face; his breath came hot and quick. With fumbling fingers that trembled with excitement he withdrew the photograph from its leaf and half showed it to the proprietor with a whispered “Comby- ang?” “Trente sous,” said the shopman in his most rapid French. And in English, “We take English money here, sir; ten shillings, if you please. May I wrap it up for you?” But Bugg had thrust it into his inner pocket, and, pressing a sovereign into the man's hand, dashed with- out looking behind him from the shop, eager to put time and space between himself and his compromising posi- tion. He hurried to his hotel, not without many a suspi- cious glance over his shoulder, and packed his bag. He had ten minutes to spare. He locked the door carefully, sat down with his back to the light, and pulling the pho- tograph from his pocket, indulged in a long voluptuous gloat. Then the boots knocked with the news of his cab, and Bugg, nobler than Lord Howard of Effingham, thrust his treasure into his pocket, unlocked the door and cried “Venny!”