Would you mind coming with that----" here the hawk-eyed gentleman strolled past again, "that case of butterflies ?" "With pleasure," I answered, and followed him out of the auction chamber down some steps through the door to the left, and ultimately into a little cupboard-like room lined with shelves full of books and ledgers.
He closed the door and locked it.
"Now," he said in a tone of the villain in a novel who at last has come face to face with the virtuous heroine, "now we are alone.

Mr.
Quatermain, let me see--those butterflies." I placed the case on a deal table which stood under a skylight in the room.

I opened it; I removed the cover of wadding, and there, pressed between two sheets of glass and quite uninjured after all its journeyings, appeared the golden flower, glorious even in death, and by its side the broad green leaf.
The young gentleman called Somers looked at it till I thought his eyes would really start out of his head.

He turned away muttering something and looked again.
"Oh! Heavens," he said at last, "oh! Heavens, is it possible that such a thing can exist in this imperfect world?
You haven't faked it, Mr.
Half--I mean Quatermain, have you ?" "Sir," I said, "for the second time you are making insinuations.

Good morning," and I began to shut up the case.
"Don't be offhanded," he exclaimed.