“No, no––not that one,” said the thief, sharply,––“the one above,” an old Dutch painting that had cost a round $10,000.
The young man took it down gingerly, biting his lips and cursing inwardly.
“That’s it,” he was rewarded, “bring it here.”
Gladwin managed to cross the room with an appearance of stolid indifference and as he handed the picture to the “collector” he said haltingly:
“I take it these pictures is worth a lot of money, sorr.”
“You’re right, I take it,” said the other with a laugh, beginning at once to slash out the canvas.
“Yes, sorr, I mean, you take it!” said Gladwin viciously. The wrathful emphasis missed its mark. The “collector” was humming to himself and working with masterful deftness.
“Now that woman’s head to the left,” he commanded as soon as he had disposed of the Dutch masterpiece. “And be quick about it. You move as if you were in a trance.”
Gladwin saw that he was to take down his only Rubens, wherefore he deliberately reached for another painting, “The Blue Boy.”