"I think that is wise. Meanwhile I am at your service."

"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Victor, you must have incurred some considerable expense in my behalf. Let me write you a check."

"There is no hurry--I don't need the money," Nevill answered, carelessly. "I will look up the account and send it to you."

"Or bring it with you when you come down to Priory Court for Christmas, if I can induce you to leave town."

"I shall be delighted to come, I a.s.sure you."

"Then we'll consider it settled."

Sir Lucius lighted a fresh cigar and rose. His whole manner had changed; he chuckled softly, and his smile was pleasant to see.

"I have something to show you, my boy," he said. "It is the richest find that ever came my way. Ha, ha! not many collectors have ever been so fortunate. I know where to pry about on the Continent, and I have made good use of my holidays. I sent home a couple of boxes filled with rare bargains; but this one--"

"You will be rousing the envy of the South Kensington Museum if you keep on," Nevill interrupted, gaily; he was in high spirits because the recent disagreeable topic had been shelved indefinitely. "What is it?"

he added.

"I'll show you in a moment, my boy. It will open your eyes when you see it. You will agree that I am a lucky dog. By gad, what a stir it will cause in art circles!"

Sir Lucius crossed the room, and from behind a trunk he took a flat leather case. He unlocked and opened it, his back screening the operation, and when he turned around he held in one hand a canvas, unframed, about twenty inches square; the rich coloring and the outlines of a ma.s.sive head were brought out by the gaslight.

"What do you think of that?" he cried.

Nevill approached and stared at it. His eyes were dilated, his lips parted, and the color was half-driven from his cheeks, as if by a sudden shock. He had expected to see a bit of Saracenic armor, made in Birmingham, or a cleverly forged Corot. But this--

"I don't wonder you are surprised," exclaimed Sir Lucius. "Congratulate me, my dear boy."

"Where did you get it?" Nevill asked, sharply.

"In Munich--in a wretched, squalid by-street of the town, with as many smells as Cologne. I found the place when I was poking about one afternoon--a dingy little shop kept by a Jew who marvelously resembled Cruikshank's f.a.gin. He resurrected this picture from a rusty old safe, and I saw its value at once. It had been in his possession for several years, he told me; he had taken it in payment of a debt. The Jew was pretty keen on it--he knew whose work it was--but in the end I got it for eleven hundred pounds. You know what it is?"

"An undoubted Rembrandt!"

"Yes, the finest Rembrandt in existence. No others can compare with it.

Look at the brilliancy of the pigments. Observe the masterful drawing.

See how well it is preserved. It is a prize, indeed, my boy, and worth double what I paid for it. It will make a sensation, and the National Gallery will want to buy it. But I wouldn't accept five thousand pounds for it. I shall give it the place of honor in my collection."

Sir Lucius paused to get his breath.

"You don't seem to appreciate it," he added. "Remember, it is absolutely unknown. Victor, what is the matter with you? Your actions are very strange, and the expression of your face is almost insulting. Do you dare to insinuate--"

"My dear uncle, will you listen to me for a moment?" said Nevill.

"Prepare yourself for a shock. I fear that the picture is far better known than you think. Indeed, it is notorious."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this Rembrandt, which you purchased in Munich, is the identical one that was stolen some months ago from Lamb and Drummond, the Pall Mall dealers. The affair made a big stir."

"Impossible!"

"It is only too true. Did you read the papers while you were away?"

"No; I scarcely glanced at them. But I can't believe--"

"Wait," said Nevill. From a pocket-book he produced a newspaper clipping, which he handed silently to his uncle. It contained an account of the robbery.

Sir Lucius read to the end. Then his cheeks swelled out, and turned from red to purple; his eyes blazed with a hot anger.

"Good G.o.d!" he exclaimed, "was ever a man so cruelly imposed upon? It is a d--nable shame! You are right, Victor. This is the stolen Rembrandt!"

"Undoubtedly. I can't tell you how sorry I feel for you." Nevill's expression was most peculiar as he spoke, and the semblance of a smile hovered about his lips.

"What is to be done?" gasped his uncle, who had flung the canvas on a chair, and was stamping savagely about the room. "It is clear as daylight. The thieves disposed of the painting in Munich, to my lying rascal of a Jew. d.a.m.n him, I wish I had him here!"

"Under the peculiar circ.u.mstances, my dear uncle, I should venture to suggest--"

"There is only one course open. This very night--no, the first thing to-morrow morning--I will take the picture to Lamb and Drummond's and tell them the whole story. I can't honorably do less."

"Certainly not," a.s.sented Nevill; it was not exactly what he had been on the point of proposing, but he was glad that he had not spoken.

"I won't feel easy until it is out of my hands," cried Sir Lucius. "Good heavens, suppose I should be suspected of the theft! Ah, that infamous scoundrel of a Jew! The law shall punish him as he deserves!"

Rage overpowered him, and he seemed in danger of apoplexy. There was brandy on the table, and he poured out a gla.s.s with a shaking hand.

Nevill watched him anxiously.

CHAPTER XX.

AT A NIGHT CLUB.

Victor Nevill called for his uncle at nine o'clock the next morning--it was not often he rose so early--and after breakfasting together the two went on to Lamb and Drummond's. Sir Lucius carried the unlucky picture under his arm, and he thumped the Pall Mall flagstones viciously with his stick; he walked like a reluctant martyr going to the stake.

Mr. Lamb had just arrived, and he led his visitors to his private office. He listened with amazement and rapt interest to the story they had come to tell him, which he did not once interrupt. When the canvas was unrolled and spread on the table he bent over it eagerly, then drew back and shook his head slightly.

"I was not aware of the robbery until my nephew informed me last night,"

explained Sir Lucius. "I have lost no time in restoring what I believe to be your property. It is an unfortunate affair, and a most disagreeable one to me, apart from any money considerations. But it affords me much gratification, sir, to be the means of--"

"I am by no means certain, Sir Lucius," Mr. Lamb interrupted, "that this _is_ my picture."

"There could not be two of them!" gasped Sir Lucius.

"As a matter of fact, there _are_ two," was the reply. "It is a curious affair, Sir Lucius, but I can speedily make it clear to you."

Very concisely and briefly Mr. Lamb told all that he knew about the duplicate Rembrandt, giving the gist of his interview months before with Jack Vernon.