It blandly went on existing, and taking about a hundred and fifty pounds a day in shillings at its polished turnstiles.
No details were obtainable concerning Priam Farll, whose address was Poste Restante, St.Martin's-le-Grand.

Various collectors, animated by deep faith in their own judgment and a sincere desire to encourage British art, were anxious to purchase the picture for a few pounds, and these enthusiasts were astonished and pained to learn that Priam Farll had marked a figure of L1,000--the price of a rare postage stamp.
In consequence the picture was not sold; and after an enterprising journal had unsuccessfully offered a reward for the identification of the portrayed policeman, the matter went gently to sleep while the public employed its annual holiday as usual in discussing the big gooseberry of matrimonial relations.
Every one naturally expected that in the following year the mysterious Priam Farll would, in accordance with the universal rule for a successful career in British art, contribute another portrait of another policeman to the New Gallery--and so on for about twenty years, at the end of which period England would have learnt to recognize him as its favourite painter of policemen.

But Priam Farll contributed nothing to the New Gallery.

He had apparently forgotten the New Gallery: which was considered to be ungracious, if not ungrateful, on his part.

Instead, he adorned the Paris salon with a large seascape showing penguins in the foreground.