Part 43 (1/2)

”You admit it then,” said Kearney roughly, unable to disguise the triumph he felt at this identification of a man he had never seen before.

”I am not so egotistical,” the other bowed, ”but I will go along with you with pleasure and see what you are able to prove.”

”Are you sure about this, Kearney?” asked Captain Stone, still doubting and hating to admit he had been led into an egregious blunder.

”Certain,” retorted the detective. ”He's been fooling them on the other side for several years, but they nearly got him in Scotland Yard two months ago. I got a full report on him from his straight eyebrows and gray eyes down to the cut of his vest, with picture and measurement attached. His real name is Alf Wilson--there were a hundred men on his trail, but he made a getaway.”

”I don't suppose there's any use trying to deny all this now,” said Wilson, without the slightest change of tone, shoving his hands into his trousers pockets and lifting his head in contemplation of the pictures on the wall.

”Not the slightest,” returned the detective, s.n.a.t.c.hing a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket.

”Wait just a moment, officer,” interrupted Travers Gladwin. ”I'd like to ask this man one question.”

”Delighted,” cried the picture expert, turning and showing all his teeth in a mocking smile.

Travers Gladwin pointed to the portrait of ”The Blue Boy.”

”How did you know I bought that picture in London upon certain misrepresentations?”

”I was the man behind the gun--think it over.”

He swung round to face the spurious Gainsborough. As he did so something caught his eye and he moved toward the portrait. Gladwin followed and inquired:

”But you not only knew it was a fake, but when I bought it and what I paid for it.”

”I knew about it,” came the jaunty reply, ”because _I_ painted it.”

He moved another step nearer the painting as Gladwin gasped.

”Yes,” he went on lightly, running his hand along the bottom of the frame, ”according to this gentleman,” and he nodded over his shoulder to Kearney, who had kept pace with him, backing to cover the doorway, ”your 'Blue Boy' was painted by the greatest picture expert in the world!”

As the last word came laughingly from his lips the room was plunged in darkness.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

REPARTEE AND A REVOLVER MUZZLE.

The inky blackness fell upon the room with palpable suddenness--like a blinding flash, numbing for a moment the senses of all who had been taken by surprise. The reflex of the shock was manifested in a very babel of incoherent shouts, jostlings and stumblings and sharp collisions with the furniture.

”Turn up the lights,” shouted Captain Stone, amid the tumult.

Travers Gladwin made a blind dive toward the wall and stumbled headlong over the great antique chest which stood to one side of where he and the thief had stood contemplating ”The Blue Boy.” In stumbling against the chest he felt something that was a revelation to him by the time he found the switch b.u.t.ton and brought back a flood of light.

”Quick, men, cover the doors--don't let any one get out,” yelled Captain Stone, pivoting on his heel as his eyes vainly sought the picture expert.

”He's gone!” cried Kearney.

”Yes, up the stairs--I hear him,” yelled Gladwin. ”There are two back stairways and the roof. There are two bas.e.m.e.nt exits--post your men out there, and down through that hallway on the left--the panel door--that leads to the kitchen. Barnes, you and Bateato take the young lady up to my study--quick!--I'll look after this room.”