Paul Quentin by Fred M. White — Read

It was an exciting moment for John Dugdale. He did not know whether to be glad or sorry. It was nice to be successful. It was good to feel that he had started so well in his quest. But, on the other hand, the spirit of adventure was strong upon him, and it looked as if his new occupation were over almost as soon as it had begun. He did not doubt that this was the Dragon Vase. He could identify it by the little claws which he already knew of. He was struck by its rare beauty and the richness of its colouring.

And yet the whole affair was puzzling to a degree. How came the vase here, and why was it exposed in this careless manner? Here was a priceless work of art placed on a pedestal in a prominent spot, as if it were some piece of ordinary earthenware worth a few shillings. The servants must have known its value. They must have had rigid instructions not to touch it. Every visitor to the house with any pretension to taste must have noticed that marvellous specimen of the ceramic art. Moreover, they would have talked about it. It must have been a matter of common knowledge that Miss Pearson possessed this treasure. There was no reason why it should not have been alluded to in a score of papers and magazines.