t even with Mr. Hume for driving a hard
bargain with you, all you had to do was to offer him a portrait of
General Wayne. I never saw him refuse one. Even if he had dozens of
duplicates, which often happened; still he'd buy."

A look of great acuteness had settled upon the face of the young
coroner.

"There is a painting at one side of the show room," said he. "It is
under a large green curtain. Is that of General Wayne?"

"It is," replied the clerk. "And I believe that he valued it more than
anything else that he owned."

Stillman laughed with pleasure.

"Now," said he to his visitors, "we are getting at it, indeed. Someone
probably knew of the value he attached to this painting and planned to
steal it, perhaps for a ransom. Hume has been suspected of doing this
sort of thing himself before now. He was supposed to have engaged
someone to do the actual work, I believe, as in the case of the
Whistler portrait of the Duchess of Winterton. Suppose this someone,"
and Stillman rapped his knuckles upon the edge of the desk excitedly,
"took the notion to go into the picture stealing business of his own
account. Hume himself with his much prized portrait of General Wayne
was ready at hand--and so," with a sweeping gesture, "what has
happened, has happened."

Pendleton, much impressed, looked at Ashton-Kirk. But the latter's
thoughts seemed far away; his eyes were fixed upon the wall; his
expression was of delighted anticipation.

Stillman also noticed this non-attention to his reasoning, and a
little wrinkle of discontent appeared between his brows. So he turned
his gaze upon Brolatsky and spoke rather sharply.

"Now, as to Mr. Hume's intimates? What do you know of them?"

Isidore Brolatsky shifted in his chair; his long fingers began to drum
upon his knees.

"I have known of the matter of the Whistler portrait," said he, "but I
never knew anything more about it than what I read in the newspapers.
It happened before my time."

"I'm not accusing you," said Stillman. "I'm asking you about Hume's
friends."

The clerk considered.

"There was no one that I ever saw or heard of that you could call his
friend, exactly," said he at length. "He made game of people too much
to have any I guess."

"Had he no associates--no one with whom he spent his time?"

Brolatsky shook his head.

"Perhaps so; but then I was only in Christie Place during business
hours. I have heard that he frequently went out at night; but where