"Every one of them. It was a worthless collection."
"In that case it was hardly worth while to take so much trouble in getting them out of the country secretly." Malipieri smiled.
"That was the dealer's affair," answered Volterra without the least hesitation. "Dealers are such fools! They always make a mystery of everything."
Malipieri could not help admiring the proportions and qualities of the Baron's lies. The financier was well aware that Malipieri knew the pictures to be genuine beyond all doubt. The disposal of them had been well managed, for when Malipieri moved into the palace there was not a painting of value left on the walls, yet there had been no mention of them in the newspapers, nor any gossip about them, and the public at large believed them to be still in their places. As a matter of fact most of them were already in France and England, and the Velasquez was in Saint Petersburg.
"I understand why you are anxious that the Palazzo Conti should not be watched just now," Malipieri said. "For my part, as I do not believe in your government, I cannot be expected to believe in its laws. It is not my business whether you respect them yourselves or not."
"Who is breaking the law?" asked the Baron roughly. "It is absurd to talk in that way. But as the government has taken it into its head to suspect that you do, it is not advisable for me, who am a staunch supporter of the government, to see too much of you. I am sure you must understand that—it is so simple."
"In other words?" Malipieri looked at him coldly, waiting for an explanation.
"I cannot afford to have it said that you are living in the palace for the purpose of helping dealers to smuggle objects of art out of the country. That is what I mean."
"I see. But what objects of art do you mean, since you have already sent away everything there was?"
"It is believed that you had something to do with that ridiculous affair of the copies," said Volterra, his voice suddenly becoming oily.