"Do you happen to know anything about him?" Henson asked.
"Very little. I never met him, if that is what you mean. But I heard that he had done something particularly disgraceful. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing more than a mere coincidence," Henson replied. "It is just a little strange that you should mention his name here, especially after what had happened last night. I suppose that, being an American, you fell in love with the Rembrandt. It was you who suggested securing it in its place, and then preventing my little jest from being successfully carried out. Of course you have heard that the print was stolen once?"
"The knowledge is as general as the spiriting away of the
Gainsborough Duchess."
"Quite so. Well, the man who stole the Rembrandt was Dr. Hatherly Bell. He stole it that he might pay a gambling debt, and it was subsequently found in his luggage before he could pass it on to the purchaser. I am glad you mentioned it, because the name of Bell is not exactly a favourite at the castle."
"I am much obliged to you," said Chris, gravely. "Was Dr. Bell a favourite once?"
"Oh, immense. He had great influence over Lord Littimer. He—but here comes Littimer in one of his moods. He appears to be angry about something."
Littimer strode up, with a frown on his face and a telegram in his hand.
Henson assumed to be mildly sympathetic.
"I hope it is nothing serious?" he murmured.
"Serious," Littimer cried. "The acme of audacity—yes. The telegram has just come. 'Must see you tonight on important business affecting the past. Shall hope to be with you some time after dinner!'"