At length we heard the siren of an automobile at the gates below the hill, and in a few moments more, Wilkes, still the most self-possessed servant present, opened the door to admit the inspector from Tarrytown, who came accompanied by an officer and a third man in plain clothes—presumably a detective.
"Good evening—or rather good morning, inspector!" said Mr. Markheim, rising to greet him. "Sorry to have brought you out, but it's not a common burglary at all."
"It's usual to report such things," replied the inspector. "We came as quickly as possible. Nobody hurt, was there?"
"No," said Markheim. "But a picture has been stolen."
The faces of all three newcomers expressed a disgust that was so apparent as to bring a smile even to the face of our profoundly troubled host.
"Wait!" he said. "Did you ever hear of the Madonna of the Lamp, inspector?"
"Can't say that I did," the police official admitted. "And I'm a pretty good Catholic myself."
"Well—it's a painting," Markheim explained, concealing his impatience as best he could, which in point of fact is not saying a great deal for his power of self-control. "It is not only a painting but a very famous one."
"Kind of an antique, eh?" suggested the officer.
"Not only an antique but one of the most famous and valuable paintings in the world. I paid five hundred thousand dollars for it."