Joanna raised her brow again, higher this time. “There was a dog on the premises?”
I nodded. “A bloody huge mastiff, with a mouth and jaw large enough to take on a wolf and win.”
“Was the hound in the home the night of the break-in?”
“Unfortunately not, for he was housed at the veterinarian’s that evening.”
Joanna sighed her disappointment. “Most unfortunate indeed.”
The three of us exchanged knowing glances as we recalled the curious incident of the dog in the night that was mentioned by Sherlock Holmes in the case of Silver Blaze. The dog did nothing and did not bark at the intruder, indicating it knew the individual. Had the huge mastiff done the same, our list of suspects would have been narrowed down substantially.
“But what was most remarkable about the countess was her vast knowledge of paintings from the Italian Renaissance period. The names of the famous and not-so-famous artists seemed to roll off her lips, and she easily recited their first names and the dates of their work. She apparently is a true patron of the arts and is quite close to the royal family.”
“We know that the earl is fifth in line to the throne, so some degree of closeness is to be expected,” Joanna said.
“Oh, it is more than that,” I continued on. “For she is one of the select few allowed to view the Royal Collection at Windsor, and I suspect she has visited there on a goodly number of occasions. You see, she has viewed the hundreds of Leonardo da Vinci’s sketches, as well as the works by Raphael, Michelangelo, and Caravaggio, and no doubt many others. This of course would require multiple visits to Windsor, and only those close to the Crown would be allowed to do so. The countess also sits on an advisory committee and on occasion has a say in the restoration of famous paintings.”
Joanna leaned forward quickly, her interest piqued. “What kind of say?”
“Ah, here all becomes delightfully interconnected, for she has directed some of the restorations to the gallery of Evans and Hawke.”
“You mean Hawke and Evans,” Joanna corrected.
“No, my dear. Evans’s name should be placed first and therein lies a story that is certain to grab and hold your attention.”
In detail I described the sad saga of Andrew Evans who founded the gallery and guided it to prominence, then allowed Simon Hawke to become a partner, and shortly thereafter developed severe consumption and was taken advantage of by Hawke whilst Evans lay on his deathbed. “But the most tragic part of the story was that both would have become wealthy had Hawke only followed the advice of Evans. There was a famous painting entitled The Baptism of Christ that came on the market for an extraordinary price. Evans knew its true value, for the painting was by del Verrocchio who was Leonardo da Vinci’s mentor. It is believed the mentor asked Leonardo to paint an angel in the corner of the work and the young pupil obliged him. A dying Evans begged Hawke to purchase it, for its value far exceeded its asking price. Hawke refused, Evans died, and the painting was soon after purchased by the Crown who had it so beautifully restored that it will shortly be on display at the National Gallery. It was upon Evans’s death that the title of the gallery was reversed. I was somewhat surprised that Evans’s name was not removed altogether.”
Joanna smiled thinly. “Not so surprising when you consider the fact that it was Evans who had the sterling reputation, and that Hawke would wish to continue to take advantage of his dead partner’s good name.”
“This Simon Hawke is quite a piece of work,” my father opined.
“And now comes the tantalizing connection,” I went on. “It was abundantly clear that the Countess of Wessex has a deep, visceral hatred of Simon Hawke, for the partner Andrew Evans who Hawke treated so poorly was the countess’s dear cousin.”
“How dear?” Joanna asked promptly.
“Quite, for she spoke of him in a most loving voice.”
“Were they close cousins?”
“I did not inquire.”
“We must determine that,” said Joanna. “For that sort of hatred begins with a deep, painful wound.”
“Are you suggesting a romantic assignation gone bad?”
“A woman scorned has a mean voice,” Joanna noted. “But there are other possibilities as well. A family feud can engender an unabating hatred that is passed down through the generations. Or perhaps the countess and her husband invested heavily in the gallery, only to watch their money disappear before their very eyes.”
“The latter would fit if the investment was made during Andrew Evans’s tenure when the gallery was thriving,” I thought aloud. “According to the earl, the business is near to financial insolvency due to Hawke’s incompetence and extravagant lifestyle.”
Joanna arose from her seat and reached for a Turkish cigarette, then began pacing the floor of the parlor. She did so in silence, assembling the facts and deliberating on their possible interconnections. Abruptly she stopped and said, “There is more here than meets the eye.”
“Are you thinking of Simon Hawke?” I asked.
“The Countess of Wessex,” Joanna answered. “She must be questioned again, with particular reference to the restorations.”
“Yes, yes,” I said in a rush. “She mentioned the restorations currently being done at Hawke and Evans, and subtly questioned the quality of their workmanship. She seemed to have some concerns about Delvecchio, the young restorer who trained at the Uffizi.”
Joanna smiled humorously. “She appears to be remarkably well informed on a gallery she despises and has no apparent connection to.”
“And, according to her husband, their defaced painting will be restored there.”
“Which is another contradiction. Why trust your valuable painting to a restorer whose ability you question? And why to a gallery you dislike so intensely?”
“She must be questioned again.”
“Eventually, but first we should look into the two restorers who worked for Hawke and Evans before Delvecchio arrived on the scene.”
“But one of the forgers has disappeared in Australia.”
“How convenient.”
“And the other is currently imprisoned at Wormwood Scrubs.”
“Then he is the one
