r his spurious
one. There was really no reason why we should higgle and dispute,
for Charles meant merely to give his cheque for the sum and then
arrest the fellow; but, still, we thought it best for the avoidance
of suspicion to make a show of resistance; and we at last beat him
down to nine thousand guineas. For this amount he was to give us a
written warranty that the work he sold us was a genuine Rembrandt,
that it represented Maria Vanrenen of Haarlem, and that he had
bought it direct, without doubt or question, from that good lady's
descendants at Gouda, in Holland.

It was capitally done. We arranged the thing to perfection. We had a
constable in waiting in our rooms at the Metropole, and we settled
that Dr. Polperro was to call at the hotel at a certain fixed hour
to sign the warranty and receive his money. A regular agreement on
sound stamped paper was drawn out between us. At the appointed time
the "party of the first part" came, having already given us over
possession of the portrait. Charles drew a cheque for the amount
agreed upon, and signed it. Then he handed it to the Doctor.
Polperro just clutched at it. Meanwhile, I took up my post by
the door, while two men in plain clothes, detectives from the
police-station, stood as men-servants and watched the windows. We
feared lest the impostor, once he had got the cheque, should dodge
us somehow, as he had already done at Nice and in Paris. The moment
he had pocketed his money with a smile of triumph, I advanced to him
rapidly. I had in my possession a pair of handcuffs. Before he knew
what was happening, I had slipped them on his wrists and secured
them dexterously, while the constable stepped forward. "We have got
you this time!" I cried. "We know who you are, Dr. Polperro. You
are--Colonel Clay, alias Senor Antonio Herrera, alias the Reverend
Richard Peploe Brabazon."

I never saw any man so astonished in my life! He was utterly
flabbergasted. Charles thought he must have expected to get clear
away at once, and that this prompt action on our part had taken
the fellow so much by surprise as to simply unman him. He gazed
about him as if he hardly realised what was happening.

"Are these two raving maniacs?" he asked at last, "or what do they
mean by this nonsensical gibberish about Antonio Herrera?"

The constable laid his hand on the prisoner's shoulder.

"It's all right, my man," he said. "We've got warrants out against
you. I arrest you, Edward Polpe