ps
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 Fagin. 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 God!" he exclaimed, "was ever a man so