h he might have walked off with his pockets filled
with valuable articles. He probably expected that the robbery would not
be discovered for a long time.

But what was his object in stealing the Rembrandt? What did he hope to
do with a copy of so well-known a work of art? Was there any connection
between this crime and the one committed last night on the premises of
the Pall Mall dealers? That was extremely unlikely. It was beyond
question that Lamb and Drummond had had the original painting in their
possession, and that daring burglars had taken it.

"I could see light in the matter," Jack reflected, "if the fellow had
visited my place after hearing of the robbery at Lamb and Drummond's.
In that case, his scheme would have been to get the duplicate
canvas--granted that he knew of its existence and whereabouts--and trade
it off for the original. But he could not have known until early this
morning, and he did not come then. I was sleeping here, and would have
heard him. No, my picture must have been taken at least a week or ten
days ago."

Jack smoked two more pipes, and the dark-brown Latakia tobacco from
Oriental shores, stealing insidiously to his brain, brought him an idea.

"It is chimeric and improbable," he concluded, "but it is the most likely
theory I have struck yet. Was my Frenchman the same chap who robbed Lamb
and Drummond? Did he or his confederates steal both paintings, knowing
them to be as like as two peas, with the intention of disposing of each
as the original, and thus killing two birds with one stone? By Jove, I
believe I've hit it! But, no, it is unlikely. Can I be right? I'll
reserve my opinion, anyway, until I have written to Paris to ascertain
if there is such a person as M. Felix Marchand, of the Pare Monceaux. If
there is _not_, then I will interview Lamb and Drummond, and confide the
whole story to them."

He decided to write the letter at once, but before he could reach his
desk there was a sharp rap on the door. He opened it, and saw a tall,
well-dressed gentleman, with a tawny beard and mustache, who bowed
coldly and silently, and held out a card. Jack took it and read the
name. His visitor was Stephen Foster.

CHAPTER XII.

A COWARDLY COMMUNICATION.

"You doubtless know why I have come," said Stephen Foster, as he stepped
into the room and closed the door. He looked penetratingly at the young
man through a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses.

"I think I do, sir," Jack repl