"I thought you'd be back," he piped. "It makes my problem much simpler. If you hadn't appeared soon, it would have been necessary for me to shift the scene of my operations. That would have been a nuisance."
Dan eyed the gun. "There are a lot more paintings downstairs than there were when I left," he said. "I don't know much about art, but I recognize a few of them."
"Copies," Snithian snapped.
"This is no copy," Dan tapped the top painting on the stack. "It's an original. You can feel the brush-work."
"Not prints, of course. Copies." Snithian whinnied. "Exact copies."
"These paintings are stolen, Mr. Snithian. Why would a wealthy man like you take to stealing art?"
"I'm not here to answer questions, Mr. Slane!" The weapon in Snithian's hand bugged. A wave of pain swept over Dan. Snithian cackled, lowering the gun. "You'll soon learn better manners."
Dan's hand went to his pocket, came out holding the automatic. He aimed it at Snithian's face. The industrialist froze, eyes on Dan's gun.
"Drop the gun." Snithian's weapon clattered to the floor. "Now let's go and find Kelly."