even, as though it had been cut from its frame with a not
oversharp knife. We sat down to our coffee and liqueurs.

As I awake in the narrow quarters of my hall bedroom I am inclined to
believe that the occurrences of the preceding night were only the
phantasms of a disordered digestion; where had I eaten that Welsh
rabbit? The morning paper had been thrown over the transom, and,
following my usual custom, I reached for it and began reading. Among
the foreign despatches I note this paragraph dated St. Petersburg:

"The famous portrait of the Duchess of Lackshire, by Sir Peter Lely,
better known as the 'Red Duchess,' has disappeared from the gallery of
the Hermitage. It is now admitted that it must have been stolen, cut
bodily from its frame and carried away. The theft took place several
months ago, but the secret has just become public property. The absence
of the picture from its accustomed place had, of course, been noted,
but it was understood that it had been removed for cleaning. An
enormous reward is to be offered for information leading to its
recovery."

There is also a letter for me which I had not noticed until now. It was
from Indiman, and it read:

"Dear Thorp,--Dine with me to-night at half after eight. I noticed that
you were rather taken with my 'Red Duchess'; we will ask the lady to
preside over our modest repast, and you can then gaze your fill upon
her. Faithfully, E. I."

Of course, I intend to accept the invitation.

II

The Red Duchess

At half after eight we sat down to dinner. Indiman, of course, took the
head of the table, and opposite him, propped up on the arms of an
enormous "bishop's chair" of Flemish oak, was Lely's portrait of the
"Red Duchess." What a glorious picture it was, in the masterly sweep of
its lines, in the splendor of its incomparable coloring! The jagged
edges of the canvas showed plainly where the vandal knife had passed,
separating the painting from its frame. But the really big thing is
always independent of its cadre; one hardly noticed the mutilation, and
then immediately forgot about it.

I had been honored with a seat at the lady's right hand, and opposite
me a fourth cover had been laid. Indiman noticed my look of inquiry.

"Only one of my fancies," he explained, smiling. "I always make
provision for the unexpected guest. Who knows what supperless angels
may be hovering around?"

We were hardly at the soup before a servant brought in a card.

"R