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Page 66
"You are very kind, but I prefer that you should keep it."
"I don't want it--won't have it! Take it out of my sight!--it is only a
worthless copy!" Sir Lucius, purple in the face, plumped himself down in
his chair. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Vernon," he added. "As a copy it is
truly magnificent--it does the greatest credit to your artistic skill.
It deceived _me_, sir! Whom would it not have deceived? There is an end
of the matter! I shall forget it. But I will go to Munich some day, and
beat that rascally Jew within an inch of his life!"
"If you can catch him," thought Jack. "I had better leave the painting
with you for the present, Mr. Lamb," he said. "It may be of some use in
your search for the original."
"Quite so," assented the dealer. "I will gladly retain it for the
present."
"If that is all," Jack continued, "I will wish you good afternoon."
"One moment, Mr. Vernon," said Sir Lucius, whose choleric indications
had completely vanished. "I--I should like to have an interview with
you, if you will consent to humor an old man. Your face interests me--I
admire your work. I propose to remain in town for a brief time, though
I am off to Oxford to-night, to visit an old friend, and will not be back
until to-morrow afternoon. Would you find it convenient to give me a
call to-morrow night at eight o'clock, at Morley's Hotel?"
Jack was silent; his face expressed the surprise he felt.
"I should like you to come down to Sussex and do some landscapes of
Priory Court," Sir Lucius further explained.
"I am not working at present," Jack said, curtly.
"But there is something else--a--a private matter," Sir Lucius replied,
confusedly. "I beg that you will oblige me, Mr. Vernon."
"Very well, sir, since you wish it so much," Jack consented. "I will
come to Morley's Hotel at eight to-morrow evening."
"Thank you, Mr. Vernon."
Jack shook hands with both gentlemen, picked up his hat and stick, and
went off to an early dinner. Sir Lucius looked after him wistfully.
CHAPTER XXII.
ANOTHER CHANCE.
Sir Lucius Chesney remained for an hour to further discuss the affair
of the two Rembrandts with Mr. Lamb, and the conversation became so
interesting that he almost forgot that he had arranged to leave
Paddington for Oxford at eight o'clock; when he suddenly remembered the
fact he hurried off, fearful of losing his dinner, and St. Martin's in
the Fields indicated a quarter to seven as he entered Morley's Hotel.
At that time a little party of three persons were sitting down to a
table in one of the luxurious dining-rooms of the Trocadero. Victor
Nevill was the host, and his guests were Stephen Foster and his
daughter; later they were all going to see the production of a new
musical comedy.
Madge, as lovely as a dream in her lustrous, shimmering evening gown,
fell under the sway of the lights and the music, and was more like her
old self than she had been for months; the papers had been kept out of
her way, and she did not know that Jack had returned from India. Stephen
Foster was absorbed in the _menu_ and the wine-card, and Nevill, in the
highest of spirits, laughed and chatted incessantly. He was ignorant of
something that had occurred that very day, else his evening's pleasure
would surely have been spoiled.
To understand the incident, the reader must go back to the previous
night, or rather an early hour of the morning. For the last of the West
End restaurants were putting out their lights and closing their doors
when Jimmie Drexell, coming home from a "smoker" at the Langham Sketch
Club, ran across Bertie Raven in Piccadilly. It was a fortunate meeting.
The Honorable Bertie was with a couple of questionable companions, and
he was intoxicated and very noisy; so much so that he had attracted the
attention of a policeman, who was moving toward the group.
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