"And got away with it!" I gasped, astonished into a colloquialism. "But when and how on earth?"
"Very simple, but clever," she told me, quite as if it were to the young man's credit. "He had this fake all ready on a stretcher in his room. He took the original, stretcher and all, out of the frame and upstairs, where he unmounted it and hid it—it isn't large, you know. And then, before he could slip the substitute into place, you and I came in from the garden—from the garden where we had been waiting for him to—to——"
Here she broke off and began to laugh hysterically.
"Come, come, my dear!" I cried. "Don't do that—just remember what a lucky escape you have had. So we interrupted him before he could put the substitute in place! Well, land of goodness! I do recall that he was all dressed when he came down stairs at Mr. Markheim's command! Go on, do, my dear!"
"Well," said Peaches, complying with renewed composure, "this Pedro-bird claims that Sandy slipped it in while we were all out in the hall with the servants and he was in and out apparently taking care of Markheim's orders. If the secret-service men hadn't been on the job Sandy would in all probability have simply stayed his two weeks out as a quiet well-behaved servant, and then gone away with a first-class reference and the original Madonna, and the substitution might never have been found out, or it might have been years—until some feast was held by a lot of experts at Mark's invitation—who knows! And he's been doing this sort of thing for years and years!"
"Extraordinary! Most extraordinary!" I exclaimed, pulling off my nightcap and starting to rise. "I must really dress and descend to take a look at that picture and the scene of the crime!"
"You can't!" said Peaches, suddenly listless. "You can't—we are both locked in!"
I could scarcely believe my ears. But Peaches was in earnest, there was no doubt about that.
"Locked in!" I repeated incredulously. "What on earth are you saying, Alicia Pegg?"
"I was saying a mouthful!" she responded. "Pa has locked us in."