"Got it," Littimer exclaimed, with the triumphant exultation of a schoolboy who has successfully looted a rare bird's-nest. "We found it half-way down the cliff, hidden behind a patch of samphire. And it doesn't seem to be any the worse for the adventure. Now, Miss Wiseacre, seeing that we have the frame, perhaps you will fulfil your promise of convincing me, once and for all, that yonder Rembrandt cannot possibly belong to me."
"I am going to do so," Chris said, quietly. "You told me you had to cut the margin of your print by an inch or so round to fit that quaint old frame. So far as I can see, the print before you is quite intact. Now, if it is too large for the frame—"
Littimer nodded eagerly. Bell fitted the dingy paper to the back of the frame and smiled. There was an inch or more to spare all round. Nobody spoke for a moment.
"You could make it smaller, but you couldn't make it bigger," Littimer said. "Bell, when I have sufficiently recovered I'll make a humble and abject apology to you. And now, wise woman from the West, what is the next act in the play?"
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE PUZZLING OF HENSON
Chris smiled with the air of one who is perfectly satisfied with her work.
"For the present I fancy we have done enough," she said. "I want to go to bed now, and I want you both to do the same. Also I shall be glad if you will come down in the morning as if nothing had happened. Tell Reginald Henson casually that you have been convinced that you have done Dr. Bell a grave injustice, and give no kind of particulars. And please treat Mr. Henson in the same fashion as before. There is only one other thing."
"Name it, and it is yours," Littimer cried.
"Well, cut the margin off that print, or at any rate turn the margin down, fit it into the frame, and hang it up as if nothing had happened."