"There could not be two of them!" gasped Sir Lucius.
"As a matter of fact, there are two," was the reply. "It is a curious affair, Sir Lucius, but I can speedily make it clear to you."
Very concisely and briefly Mr. Lamb told all that he knew about the duplicate Rembrandt, giving the gist of his interview months before with Jack Vernon.
"Then you mean to say that this is the duplicate?" asked Nevill.
"No; I can't say that."
Sir Lucius brightened suddenly. The loss of his prize was a heavy blow, but it would be far worse, he told himself, if he had been tricked into buying a false copy. He hated to think of such a thing—it was a wound to his pride, an insult to his judgment.
"I have reason to believe that the duplicate was a splendid replica of the original, otherwise it would not have been worth the trouble of stealing," Mr. Lamb went on. "Mr. Vernon assured me of that. So, under the circumstances, I cannot be positive which picture lies here before us. My eyesight is a little bad, and I prefer not to trust to it. Mr. Drummond might recognize the canvas, but he is out of town. I am disposed to doubt, however, that this is the original Rembrandt."
"You think it is more likely to be the duplicate?" inquired Sir Lucius.
"I do."
Sir Lucius swelled out with indignation, and his cheerfulness vanished.