totally unprepared for the revelation of that 

 beauty of form and color which was now in review. 

 Slide after slide passed under the lens, each mar- 

 velous, magnificent, ravishing . . . 



'Won't you step this way — the light is better 

 . . ." It was the pawnbroker's voice. In my absorp- 

 tion, I had not noticed that we were once more 

 alone. He led, while I carried the microscope into 

 his private cubicle. 



"Are you a microscopist?" he continued when 

 the instrument was deposited upon his desk. 



"After a fashion," I said, trying to be as non- 

 committal as possible. Veriest amateur though I 

 was, I had no intention of divulging that fact. He 

 observed my actions with interest as I completed 

 the adjustments of the microscope. When I re- 

 opened my box of slides, however, I thought that I 

 saw him start. But I was not quite sure. He picked 

 one up and holding it to the light examined it 

 curiously. 



There was no need to dissemble further. The un- 

 professional slides were sufficient evidence of my 

 status. Even the dullest wit could detect that. 

 And he was obviously no dullard. With a skill at 

 which I could only pretend, he deftly slipped the 



[18] 



