"Certainly not," assented Nevill; it was not exactly what he had been on the point of proposing, but he was glad that he had not spoken.
"I won't feel easy until it is out of my hands," cried Sir Lucius. "Good heavens, suppose I should be suspected of the theft! Ah, that infamous scoundrel of a Jew! The law shall punish him as he deserves!"
Rage overpowered him, and he seemed in danger of apoplexy. There was brandy on the table, and he poured out a glass with a shaking hand. Nevill watched him anxiously.
CHAPTER XX.
AT A NIGHT CLUB.
Victor Nevill called for his uncle at nine o'clock the next morning—it was not often he rose so early—and after breakfasting together the two went on to Lamb and Drummond's. Sir Lucius carried the unlucky picture under his arm, and he thumped the Pall Mall flagstones viciously with his stick; he walked like a reluctant martyr going to the stake.
Mr. Lamb had just arrived, and he led his visitors to his private office. He listened with amazement and rapt interest to the story they had come to tell him, which he did not once interrupt. When the canvas was unrolled and spread on the table he bent over it eagerly, then drew back and shook his head slightly.
"I was not aware of the robbery until my nephew informed me last night," explained Sir Lucius. "I have lost no time in restoring what I believe to be your property. It is an unfortunate affair, and a most disagreeable one to me, apart from any money considerations. But it affords me much gratification, sir, to be the means of—"
"I am by no means certain, Sir Lucius," Mr. Lamb interrupted, "that this is my picture."