“FIVE thousand guineas, sir, I have just refused,” said Uncle Si, “for this little thing, as sure as God’s in the sky.”
So shocked was June by this adding of blasphemy to his other crimes, that she shivered audibly. Miss Babraham cocked up her head at the sound. “You’ve a cat somewhere, haven’t you?” she said, looking around the shop.
“No, madam,” said Uncle Si shortly. So like a woman to butt in at such a moment with such a remark!
“In my humble opinion,” said Sir Arthur, gazing solemnly at the picture, “this is a finer example of Van Roon than the one—and the only one!—we have in the National Gallery.”
“There, sir, I am with you,” said S. Gedge Antiques with unction.
“One would like to know its history.”
The old man became a sphinx once more. “I can only tell you, sir, I didn’t buy it as a Van Roon,” he said cautiously.
“Really!” Sir Arthur grew more intrigued than ever. “Well, Mr. Gedge, whatever you bought it as, I think there can be no doubt that you’ve made a lucky purchase.”
“I am wondering, sir,” said S. Gedge Antiques, “whether the National Gallery would care to acquire this fine example?” It was a sudden inspiration, but those measured tones and calculating eyes gave no indication of the fact.
Sir Arthur Babraham, in his own capacity of a National Gallery trustee, began sensibly to moderate his transports. “More unlikely things, Mr. Gedge,” at last he brought himself reluctantly to say. “Van Roons are very scarce, and if this one is all that he appears to be at a first glance, it will be a pity to let him leave the country.”
Piously, S. Gedge Antiques thought so, too.
Sir Arthur turned to the picture again. Like M. Duponnet he seemed to have difficulty in keeping his expert gaze off that fascinating canvas.
“Reminds one,” he said, “of that choice thing that was stolen from the Louvre about twenty-five years ago. The size is similar and, as I remember it, the whole composition is in some ways identical.”
The old man was startled, but not visibly. “Was there one stolen from the Loov, sir?” he said, with a polite air of asking for information.
“Why, yes! Don’t you remember? There was a great stir at the time. It was cut out of its frame. The French Government offered a big reward, but the work has never been recovered.”
“Indeed, sir.” All at once the Old Crocodile began to gambol a little. “Let’s hope this ain’t the boy.” He gave a mild snigger. But as his next words proved there was more in that snigger than met the ear. “In the event of this little jool turning out to be stolen property, what, sir, do you suppose would be the position of the present owner?”
“Difficult to say, Mr. Gedge.”
“He’d receive compensation, wouldn’t he?”
“Substantial compensation one would think—if he was able to prove his title.”
If he was able to prove his title! Those blunt little words had a sinister sound for S. Gedge Antiques, but he did not turn a hair. “No difficulty about that, sir,” he said, robustly.
“Quite!” Evidently Sir Arthur had no doubt upon the point. “But as the question might arise it may be well to have it settled before disposing of the picture.”
S. Gedge agreed.
“And in any case, before parting with it,” said Sir Arthur, “it will be wise, I think, to take advice.”
Again S. Gedge agreed. “You mean, sir, it may be very valuable indeed?”
“Yes, I quite think it may be. At a cursory glance it has the look of a fine example of a great master. I remember at the time that ‘L’Automne’ disappeared from the Louvre, it was said to be worth at least two hundred and fifty thousand francs, and since then Van Roons have more than doubled in price.”
“In that case, sir”—there was a tremor of real emotion in the voice of the old dealer—“this be-yew-ti-ful thing ought not to be allowed to leave the country.”
“Unfortunately the French authorities may compel it to do so.” And the connoisseur sighed as he fingered the canvas lovingly.
Affirmed S. Gedge Antiques: “I don’t believe, sir, for a moment that it is ‘L’Automne.’”
“One wouldn’t like to say it is,” said the cautious Sir Arthur. “And one wouldn’t like to say it isn’t.”
“It’ll be up to the Loov to prove it, anyhow.”
“Quite. In the meantime, before you let it go, I hope you’ll give me an opportunity of looking at it again.”
This modest request caused the old man to rub his nose. He was not in a position, he said mysteriously, to give a promise, but certainly he would do his best to meet the wishes of Sir Arthur.
“Thank you, Mr. Gedge. If this picture is not claimed by other people, and of course one doesn’t for a moment suggest that it will be, steps might be taken to keep it here. We are so poor in Van Roons—there is only one, I believe—to our shame!—in this country at the present time—that we can’t afford to let a thing like this slip through our fingers. Therefore, as I say, before you decide to sell I hope you’ll take advice.”
S. Gedge Antiques gravely thanked Sir Arthur Babraham. He would keep those wise words in mind. And in the meantime he would pack That in a crate—he pointed a finger straight at June’s eyes—and send it to Homefield.——
“——near Byfleet, Surrey, I think you said, sir?”