"I have it from one of the cabinet," Volterra continued. "He told me the facts confidentially after dinner. You see, as you are living in my house, the suspicion is reflected on me."
"In your house?"
"The Palazzo Conti is my house," answered the Baron, taking his cigar from his mouth for the first time since he had lighted it, and holding it out at arm's length with a possessive sweep while he leaned back and looked at the ceiling again. "It all belongs to me," he said. "I took it for the mortgage, with everything in it."
"By the bye," said Malipieri, "what became of that Velasquez, and those other pictures?"
"Was there a Velasquez?" enquired the Baron carelessly, without changing his attitude.
"Yes. It was famous all over Europe. It was a family portrait."
"I remember! It turned out to be a copy after all."
"A copy!" repeated Malipieri incredulously.
"Yes, the original is in Madrid," answered the Baron with imperturbable self-possession.
"And all those other pictures turned out to be copies, too, I daresay," suggested Malipieri.