he
street and the house number on a leaf torn from his note-book and
handed it to Blake. "Yes, you can come along if you like; it may be the
big thing yet."

As the carriage rolled along Indiman vouchsafed certain explanations.

"As I have already told you," he began, "I bought the picture from a
small dealer in the Bowery. I happened to notice it in his window, and,
the 'Red Duchess' being one of the half-dozen superlative portraits of
the world, I was naturally interested. It was certainly a fine copy,
and I was pleased to get it so cheaply.

"Now there were two or three circumstances connected with my find that
afterwards struck me as peculiar. In the first place it is well known
that permission to copy any of the pictures at the Hermitage Gallery is
very rarely given, and the authorities are particularly averse to
having reproductions made of the Lely portrait. Secondly, why were the
edges of the canvas so curiously serrated, giving the picture the look
of having been hastily cut away from its frame? And, finally, where and
when had this copy been made? for the label of the Fulton Street art
dealer on the back bore the date 1903, and this was the 2d of February
in the same year. Obviously impossible that the artist could have gone
to Russia, painted the picture, and returned with it to New York in a
little over a month.

"Two days later I was walking up Fourth Avenue, through the district
affected by the curio and old-furniture dealers, and I discovered a
replica of my 'Red Duchess' hanging in a shop-window. In every respect
identical, you understand, the two pictures were unquestionably the
work of the same hand. Whose hand?

"Do you remember, Thorp, the name of Clive Richmond? Well, for a year
or two he was the favorite painter of women's portraits here in New
York, hailed as genius and all that. Then suddenly his work began to
fall off in quality; his failures became egregious, and his clients
left him. Shortly after he disappeared; it was the common report that
his misfortunes had affected his reason; there were even hints at
suicide. That was some four or five years ago, and whatever the secret
may be it has been kept faithfully.

"At least I had solved a portion of the problem--it was Clive Richmond
and no other who had painted my copy of the 'Red Duchess.' How do I
know? Well, with the expert it is a matter partly technical but more
largely intuitive. How do you recognize a friend's face? How does the