I was feeling most frightfully sorry for the poor old chap by this time, don’t you know, but I thought it would be kindest to give it him straight instead of breaking it by degrees.
“I won’t say a word to Clarence, Mr. Yeardsley,” I said. “I quite understand your feelings. The Artistic Temperament, and all that sort of thing. I mean—what? I know. But I’m afraid—Well, look!”
I went to the door and switched on the electric light, and there, staring him in the face, were the two empty frames. He stood goggling at them in silence. Then he gave a sort of wheezy grunt.
“The gang! The burglars! They have been here, and they have taken Clarence’s picture!” He paused. “It might have been mine! My Venus!” he whispered It was getting most fearfully painful, you know, but he had to know the truth.
“I’m awfully sorry, you know,” I said. “But it was.”
He started, poor old chap.
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“They did take your Venus.”
“But I have it here.”
I shook my head.