“Have the Australian authorities been alerted?”
“On several occasions, but without result,” Lestrade replied. “But keep in mind, an individual can easily vanish in that vast country.”
“Particularly so in what they refer to as the bush,” my father said.
“And even more so in their outback,” Lestrade added.
“I am surprised this crime was never covered by the newspapers,” Joanna remarked. “I do not recall having read of it.”
“We begged the inspector to remain close-lipped and not disclose these forgeries, for had they become known our gallery would have been ruined forever,” Hawke said, giving Lestrade a sincere nod of gratitude. “No one would have ever purchased a painting from us, and for good reason. The very last thing a reputable art gallery wants is to have its name associated with forgery. With such a crime hanging over our heads, every painting would become suspect. And of course the Crown, for whom we do considerable restoration work, would be obliged to withdraw from any further affiliation with Hawke and Evans. Word of this impending disaster never leaked, thanks to the inspector.”
“Well done, Lestrade,” Joanna lauded, but with a sly smile to my father and me. We were very much aware that the inspector would go to great ends to inform the newspapers and magazines of any crime solved by Scotland Yard. These publications would in turn heap great praise on the Yard and those involved, thus covering for their abysmal failure rate when it came to crime solving. I can only begin to imagine the immense pressure placed on Lestrade by higher-ups to keep his investigation secret in every way. Otherwise, every detail of the forgeries would have been publicly disclosed.
Joanna returned her attention to the figures depicted in the defaced paintings. She studied the faces and religious icons at length before asking, “Did the vandal concentrate his efforts on symbols of Christianity?”
“So it would appear,” Delvecchio replied. “It was the Madonna he seemed most interested in disfiguring.”
“Was the slash made in the sign of the cross?”
“No, madam. It was random and made only to disfigure.”
Joanna cautiously used the tip of a finger to lift up the torn edge of the painting, so she could peek behind it. Its backing had taken on a brownish hue with age and had no markings upon it. “Were the backings of the five ruined pieces also slashed?”
“No, madam. They remained pristine in every instance.”
The loud hum of an electric fan abruptly filled the air and for the moment drowned out further conversation. A hot draft from an overhead duct blew down on us and quickly warmed the basement further. The duct itself penetrated through a thick brick wall that closed off the far end of the room.
“It will shortly quiet down,” Hawke said, then waited patiently as the noise of the fan began to dissipate. “We had a central heating unit installed, which helps protect our paintings, particularly those undergoing restoration. Mr. Delvecchio insisted on it, for without it he could not guarantee his work.”
“Is the room temperature that important?” my father inquired.
“It is not so much the temperature, Dr. Watson, but rather the humidity and cleanliness of the air,” Hawke replied. “Our restorer can explain it best.”
“When it comes to paintings, dryness protects while humidity destroys,” Delvecchio elucidated. “That is why the figures painted on the walls of the Egyptian pyramids have survived for thousands of years. The dry desert air protects them, you see. Prior to my arrival, Mr. Hawke used a coal-burning stove and fireplace to heat the area. It was not very effective and, in addition, it polluted the air with dust particles. The new system is far superior in every regard.”
“And far more expensive,” Hawke noted, and pointed to the brick enclosure. “The installers surrounded the furnace with bricks on all sides to limit the escape of heat and particles produced. We had primarily walled off the fireplace for the same reason.”
“And to eliminate the bad smell,” Delvecchio added.
Hawke groaned under his breath at the remembrance. “Apparently several large rats or squirrels had found their way into the chimney where they became trapped and died, leaving a most unpleasant odor behind. When the fireplace was closed off, the heat no longer escaped and the odor never recurred.”
Joanna carefully placed a wetted fingertip on the brick enclosure in several places above and below her shoulders. “The bricks are warm, but not hot, which indicates they are serving their purpose well. This also of course permits the heat to be more evenly distributed.”
“Just as the installers predicted,” Hawke said, but then a quizzical look crossed his face. “Are the warmed bricks in any way related to the acts of violence?”
“I think not,” Joanna replied, but she eyed the enclosure again, side to side, ceiling to floor, as if measuring it. “The furnace within must be quite large.”
“So large it had to be disassembled before it could be moved into the building.”
Joanna nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. She then strolled over to the three remaining defaced paintings and studied them at length. I saw nothing that distinguished them from the other ruined portraits. The slashes went across the Virgin Mary’s face, splitting the canvas into two. In one painting the religious icons were badly damaged, while in the others the icons remained unharmed. If there was another signature to the vandal’s work, I could not detect it. Now Joanna was repeating the same inspection she had performed on the other canvases. She gently inserted a finger between the cut edges and pulled one side open. Then she peered in, at first with the naked eye, then with a magnifying glass.
“Are there any clues present?” Hawke asked anxiously.
“Only those telling us that we are dealing with a very deliberate vandal,” replied Joanna, and turned to Delvecchio. “I take it the backings
