Guy gathered up the sham umbrella and the jewelled snuff-boxes, slipping the one he had decided to retain for himself into his pocket.
Hora raised the picture reverently and led the way out of the room, Guy following him.
CHAPTER II
CONCERNING THE GREUZE, SOME GENTILES, AND A JEW
Later on that same morning all London was thrilled by the story of a sensational burglary at the house of Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim, the noted connoisseur and dealer in objects of art.
Just at daybreak Mr. Flurscheim had been aroused by the ringing of the burglar alarm, and, throwing on his dressing-gown, he had rushed downstairs. There he had found the front door open, and, running into the street, he commenced to blow frantically the police whistle which he had in his hand—he always slept with a police whistle attached to a ribbon round his neck and with a revolver under his pillow.
He had not been compelled to waste much breath before the summons was responded to, for a constable was almost instantly on the spot.
Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim dwelt in a quarter of London greatly favoured by rank, fashion, and the children of Abraham. His house was at the corner of a street turning into Park Lane, and at the shrill sound of the whistle there emerged from turning after turning helmeted men in blue who with one accord made their way at paces varying with each man's temperament to the place where the excited art dealer stood beckoning vigorously.
Mr. Flurscheim had speedily revealed his reason for giving the alarm. The house was surrounded by constables, and two of the force accompanied the owner back into his house, which they proceeded to search systematically. At this time, Mr. Flurscheim had not discovered his loss and was disposed to think that the electric alarm had frustrated an attempt of someone to enter his abode. But when he arrived, in the course of the search, at his drawing-room on the first floor, he learned that the thief had been only too successful in the object which had brought him thither. From the place on the wall where the gem of his collection, the Greuze, which he had sworn should never leave his possession until £20,000 should have been paid into his banking account, had hung, only an empty frame confronted him, while tossed carelessly aside on the table was an ordinary table knife which had been used for the purpose of cutting the canvas from the frame.
Upon the discovery of his loss, Mr. Flurscheim had for a while been bereft of speech and movement. When volition returned to him, he behaved as one demented. He wrung his hands, he tore his hair and his clothes, and he called upon the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob to visit his despoiler with condign punishment.
When a little later he discovered that some more of his choicest treasures, the jewelled snuff-boxes of which he had the finest collection in the world, had been carried away, he became absolutely frantic with grief, so that even the policemen felt moved in their hearts to pity him.