“For the sake of the frame.”
“But was the frame anything very remarkable?”
“Oh, it was worth about ten pounds.”
I laughed: “So they stole your valuable painting worth some hundreds of pounds for the sake of a ten-pound frame. What have you done to get it back?”
“Nothing,” he replied.
“Nothing,” I repeated, amazed.
“No, my only chance of ever seeing that picture again is to do nothing. You see, it is this way. If a thief realised it was a valuable painting which had attracted attention and was being searched for, he would destroy it. Whereas, if he thinks it is of no value, he will sell it in some back slum, and in course of time the picture will turn up again. At least that is what we artists think. I have no replica, not even a photograph, but the lady has kindly promised to sit again. Mercifully, it was not an order, but my own picture; and in a year or two I shall exhibit the second portrait and let it be photographed for different papers, when, in all probability, someone will discover they have one just like it, and we may be able to trace the picture back to the original thief. The frame must have attracted his attention, for it was not quite ordinary. I had it made in Morocco.”
“Have you ever had any other queer episode with a picture?”
“Yes,” he replied. “There is a certain well-known lady whose husband has her painted every year by some artist. She is good-looking and this is his hobby. My turn came. I painted the picture. It was barely finished, and had to go to an exhibition while the paint was still wet. When I went on varnishing day I was surprised to see a curious green haze over the face just as when you stick your nose against a window-pane, and the skin appears green in hue. I did nothing at the time, but determined to make some little alteration when the exhibition closed. The portrait came home. I looked at it. Yes, there was still that strange green hue over it, so I began to take it out of the frame in order to touch it up.
“Imagine my horror when I found that the canvas had stuck to the glass! and the more I lifted it, lumps of paint from the lady’s cheeks stuck to it. I did everything I could think of to get the two apart, ending by leaving the glass and losing my temper.