"Scoundrel! He knows a thing or two!" reflected Priam grimly.
"You don't think I overpraise it, do you, _cher maitre ?_ Mr.Oxford finished, still smiling.
"A little," said Priam.
If only Priam could have run away! But he couldn't! Mr.Oxford had him well in a corner.

No chance of freedom! Besides, he was over fifty and stout.
"Ah! Now I was expecting you to say that! Do you mind telling me at what period you painted it ?" Mr.Oxford inquired, very blandly, though his hands were clasped in a violent tension that forced the blood from the region of the knuckle-joints.
This was the crisis which Mr.Oxford had been leading up to! All the time Mr.Oxford's teethy smile had concealed a knowledge of Priam's identity! * * * * *.