him from Amsterdam. It is made
from a recipe found among the papers of Rembrandt himself--has been
used with the most astonishing results on the Master's pictures in
every gallery of Holland, and is now being applied to the surface of the
largest Rembrandt in Mr. P.'s own collection. Directions for use: Lay
the picture flat, pour the whole contents of the bottle over it gently,
so as to flood the entire surface; leave the liquid on the surface for
six hours, then wipe it off briskly with a soft cloth of as large a
size as can be conveniently used. The effect will be the most wonderful
removal of all dirt, and a complete and brilliant metamorphosis of the
present dingy surface of the picture."

I left this note and the bottle myself at two o'clock that day; then
went home, and confidently awaited the result.

The next morning our friend from the office called, announcing himself
by a burst of laughter outside the door. Mr. Green had implicitly
followed the directions in the letter the moment he received it--had
allowed the "Amsterdam Cleansing Compound" to remain on the Rembrandt
until eight o'clock in the evening--had called for the softest linen
cloth in the whole house--and had then, with his own venerable hands,
carefully wiped off the compound, and with it the whole surface of the
picture! The brown, the black, the Burgomaster, the breakfast, and the
ray of yellow light, all came clean off together in considerably less
than a minute of time. If the picture, was brought into court now, the
evidence it could give against us was limited to a bit of plain panel,
and a mass of black pulp rolled up in a duster.

Our line of defense was, of course, that the compound had been
improperly used. For the rest, we relied with well-placed confidence on
the want of evidence against us. Mr. Pickup wisely closed his shop for a
while, and went off to the Continent to ransack the foreign galleries.
I received my five and twenty pounds, rubbed out the beginning of my
second Rembrandt, closed the back door of the workshop behind me, and
there was another scene of my life at an end. I had but one circumstance
to regret--and I did regret it bitterly. I was still as ignorant as ever
of the young lady's name and address.

My first visit was to the studio of my excellent artist-friend, whom
I have already presented to the reader under the sympathetic name of
"Dick." He greeted me with a letter in his hand. It was addressed to
me--it