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Page 15
"Then, if you had this Rembrandt locked up in your safe, you would
regard it as a sound and sure investment, to be realized on in the
future?"
"Certainly. I should consider it as an equivalent for �10,000," Stephen
Foster replied. "But there is not much of that sort of thing done--the
ordinary burglar doesn't understand the game," he went on, carelessly.
"And a good thing for the dealers, too. With my knowledge of the place,
I could very easily remove a picture from Lamb and Drummond's store-room
any night."
"Yes, you know the ground thoroughly. Would you like to make �10,000 at
a single stroke, without risk?"
"I don't think I should hesitate long, if it was a sure thing," Stephen
Foster replied, laughingly. "Nevill, what are you driving at?" he added
with sudden earnestness.
"Wait a moment, and I'll explain."
Victor Nevill stepped to the door, listened briefly, and turned the key
noiselessly in the lock. He drew a chair close to his companion and sat
down.
"I am going to tell you a little story," he said. "It will interest
you, if I am not mistaken."
It must have been a very important and mysterious communication, from
the care with which Nevill told it, from the low and cautious tone in
which he spoke. Stephen Foster listened with a blank expression that
gradually changed to a look of amazement and satisfaction, of
ill-concealed avarice. Then the two discussed the matter together,
heedless of the passage of time, until the clock struck five.
"It certainly appears to be simple enough," said Stephen Foster, "but
who will find out about--"
"You must do that," Nevill interrupted. "If I went, it might lead to
awkward complications in the future."
"It's the worst part, and I confess I don't like it. But I'll take a
night to think it over, and give you an answer to-morrow. It's an ugly
undertaking--"
"But a safe one. If it comes off all right, I want �500 cash down, on
account."
"It is not certain that it will come off at all," said Stephen Foster,
as he rose. "Come in to-morrow afternoon. Oh, I believe I promised you
some commission to-day."
"Yes; sixty pounds."
The check was written, and Nevill pocketed it with a nod. He put on his
hat, moved to the door, and paused.
"By the by, there's a new thing on at the Frivolity--awfully good," he
said. "Miss Foster might like to see it. We could make up a little party
of three--"
"Thank you, but my daughter doesn't care for theatres. And, as you know,
I spend my evenings at home."
"I don't blame you," Nevill replied, indifferently. "It's a snug and
jolly crib you have down there by the river. And the fresh air does a
fellow a lot of good. I feel like a new man when I come back to town
after dining with you. One gets tired of clubs and restaurants."
"Come out when you like," said Stephen Foster, in a voice that lacked
warmth and sincerity.
"That's kind of you," Nevill replied. "Good-night!"
A minute later he was walking thoughtfully down Wardour street.
CHAPTER VI.
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