In Friendship's Guise Part 14

"Madge, something troubles you," her lover said, anxiously.

"Yes, Jack. I--I received an anonymous letter at noon. Mrs. Sedgewick forwarded it to me. Oh, it is shameful to speak of it--"

"An anonymous letter? There is nothing more vile or cowardly! Did it concern me?"

"Yes."

"And spoke badly of me?"

"It didn't say anything good."

"I wish I had the scoundrel by the throat! You have no idea who sent it?"

"None, dear. It was in a strange, scrawly hand, and was postmarked Paddington."

"It is a mystery I am powerless to explain," Jack said dismally. "To the best of my knowledge I have not an enemy in the world. I can recall no one who would wish to do me an ill turn. And the writer lied foully if he gave me a bad character, Madge. Where is the letter?"

"I destroyed it at once. I hated to see it, to touch it."

"I am sorry you did that. It might have contained some clew. Tell me all, Madge. Surely, darling, you don't believe--"

"Jack, how can you think so?" She glanced up at him with a tender, trustful, and yet half-distressed look in her eyes. "Forgive me, dear.

It is not that I doubt you, but--but I must ask you one question. You are a free man? There is no tie that could forbid you to marry me?"

"I am a free man," Jack answered her solemnly. "Put such evil thoughts out of your mind, my darling. By the pa.s.sionate love I feel for you, by my own honor, I swear that I have an honest man's right to make you mine. But, as I told you before, I had a reckless past--"

"I don't want to hear about it," Madge interrupted.

No one was within sight or sound, so she put her arms about his neck and lifted her lips to his.

"Jack, you have made me so happy," she whispered. "I will forget that false, wicked letter. I love you, love you, dear. And I will be your wife whenever you wish--"

Her voice broke, and he kissed a tear from her burning cheek.

"My Madge!" he said, softly. "Do you care so much for me?"

Half an hour later they parted at the Hanover Gate. As he turned his steps homeward, the cowardly anonymous letter lay heavily on his mind.

Who could have written it, and what did it contain? He more than suspected that it referred to his youthful marriage with Diane Merode.

When he reached the studio he found on his desk a letter bearing a French stamp. He opened it curiously.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE TEMPTER.

"Just as I suspected!" Jack exclaimed. "I knew I couldn't be mistaken.

I have spotted the thief. The queer chap who bought my water-color sketches is the same who carried off the Rembrandt. How cleverly he worked his little game! But there my information stops, and I doubt if the police could make much out of it."

The letter, which he had crumpled excitedly in his hand after reading it, was written in French; freely translated it ran as follows:

"No. 15, BOULEVARD DE COURCELLES, PARIS.

"My Dear Jack--I was rejoiced to hear from you, after so long a silence, and it gave me sincere pleasure to look into the matter of which you spoke. But I fear that my answers must be in the negative. It is certain that no such individual as M. Felix Marchand lives in or near the Pare Monceaux, where I have numerous acquaintances; nor do I find the name in the directory of Paris. Moreover, he is unknown to the dealer, Cambon, on the Quai Voltaire, of whom I made inquiries. So the matter rests. I am pleased to learn of your prosperity. When shall I see you once more in Lutetia?

"With amiable sentiments I inscribe myself,

"Your old friend,

"CHARLES JACQUIN."

"I'll take the earliest opportunity of seeing Lamb and Drummond," Jack resolved. "The affair will interest them, and it may lead to something.

But I shan't bother about it--I didn't value the picture very highly, and the thief almost deserves to keep it for his cleverness."

During the next three days, however, Jack was too busy to carry out his plan--at least in the mornings. Not for any consideration would he have sacrificed his afternoons, for then he met Madge in Regent's Park, and spent an hour or more with her, reckless of extortionate cab fares from Ravenscourt Park to the neighborhood of Portland Terrace. On the second night, dining in town, he met Victor Nevill, and had a long chat with him, the two going to a music-hall afterward. Jack was discreetly silent about his love affair, nor did he or Nevill refer to the little incident near Richmond Hill.

At the end of the week Jack's opportunity came. He had finished some work on which he had been employed for several days, and soon after breakfast, putting on a frock coat and a top hat he went off to town. He presented a card at Lamb and Drummond's, and the senior partner of the firm, who knew him well by reputation, invited him into his private office. On learning his visitor's errand, Mr. Lamb evinced a keen interest in the subject. He listened attentively to the story, and asked various questions.

"Here is the letter from my friend in Paris," Jack concluded. "You will understand its import. It shows conclusively that M. Marchand came to my studio under a false name, and leaves no room for doubt that it was he who stole my duplicate Rembrandt."

"I agree with you, Mr. Vernon. It is a puzzling affair, and I confess I don't know what to make of it. But it is exceedingly interesting, and I am very glad that you have confided in me. I think it will be best if we keep our knowledge strictly to ourselves for the present."

"By all means."

"I except the detectives who are working on the case."

"Yes, of course. They are the proper persons to utilize the information," a.s.sented Jack. "It should not be made public."

"I never knew that a copy of Von Whele's picture was in existence," said Mr. Lamb. "I need hardly ask if it is a faithful one."

"I am afraid it is," Jack replied, smiling. "I worked slowly and carefully, and though I was a bit of an amateur in those days, I was more than satisfied with the result. The pictures were of the same size; and I really don't think many persons could have distinguished the one from the other."

"Could _you_ do that now, supposing that both were before you, framed alike, and that the duplicate was cunningly toned to look as old as the original?"

"I should not hesitate an instant," Jack replied, "because it happens that I took the precaution of making a slight mark in one corner of my canvas."

"Ah, that was a clever idea--very shrewd of you! It may be of the greatest importance in the future."

"You have not yet given me your opinion of the mysterious Frenchman,"

Jack went on. "Do you believe that he was concerned in both robberies?"

"Circ.u.mstances seem to point that way, Mr. Vernon, do they not? Your picture was certainly taken before mine?"

"It was, without doubt."

"Then, what object could the Frenchman have had in stealing the comparatively worthless duplicate, unless he counted on subsequently getting possession of the original?"