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Page 59
"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Victor, you must have incurred some
considerable expense in my behalf. Let me write you a check."
"There is no hurry--I don't need the money," Nevill answered,
carelessly. "I will look up the account and send it to you."
"Or bring it with you when you come down to Priory Court for Christmas,
if I can induce you to leave town."
"I shall be delighted to come, I assure you."
"Then we'll consider it settled."
Sir Lucius lighted a fresh cigar and rose. His whole manner had changed;
he chuckled softly, and his smile was pleasant to see.
"I have something to show you, my boy," he said. "It is the richest
find that ever came my way. Ha, ha! not many collectors have ever been
so fortunate. I know where to pry about on the Continent, and I have
made good use of my holidays. I sent home a couple of boxes filled with
rare bargains; but this one--"
"You will be rousing the envy of the South Kensington Museum if you
keep on," Nevill interrupted, gaily; he was in high spirits because the
recent disagreeable topic had been shelved indefinitely. "What is it?"
he added.
"I'll show you in a moment, my boy. It will open your eyes when you see
it. You will agree that I am a lucky dog. By gad, what a stir it will
cause in art circles!"
Sir Lucius crossed the room, and from behind a trunk he took a flat
leather case. He unlocked and opened it, his back screening the
operation, and when he turned around he held in one hand a canvas,
unframed, about twenty inches square; the rich coloring and the outlines
of a massive head were brought out by the gaslight.
"What do you think of that?" he cried.
Nevill approached and stared at it. His eyes were dilated, his lips
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?"
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