He had expected her to pass out or scream, but she did neither. She pressed her lips tighter together and clenched her long, bony hands in front of her.
Everyone stared at her, but she didn’t speak.
Jupiter coughed and continued, “Bearing all this in mind, I decided something was rotten in the Fogg Museum. Others have had the same sentiments, but not, I should imagine, with as much basis as myself. I telephoned Mr. Epstein in New York. Why I did still remains a mystery to me. He added nothing to what I knew, merely saying that his pictures were copies and that they had come from Italy. Mr. Epstein made one slip which I think is causing him a slight amount of worry to-day. He didn’t seem at all confused by the fact that he was being called in connection with the Singer case. By that time I was adding two and two together so fast I was getting a total in two figures. Miss Mahan and I negotiated a small robbery out here. I chose the Lotto from the others because it was the first one of the three that I found. Mr. Chalmers, will you please step forward.” ‘
Mr. Chalmers stepped forward. He was wearing his best suit and he looked unusually clean.
Jupiter took him by the arm. “Mr. Chalmers is an artist, an excellent artist — some of you may have heard of him. Now, Mr. Chalmers, will you please tell us about this painting.”
Chalmers cleared his throat and bowed. “Mr. Jones brought me this painting last evening. He persuaded me to make a few tests to determine whether it was an original. I have had some experience in this kind of work, but unfortunately I have a very limited laboratory in which to carry on this work. However, I made one test which would prove beyond all conceivable doubt whether the painting was a forgery. This test showed that the painting was a clever and skillful work, but nevertheless a copy from the original.”
He bowed again and went back to the others.
There was a general intake of breath.
Hadley stuttered, “Why — why — that’s impossible — really, I mean . . .”
Fairchild said, “I’ll be damned!”
Rankin growled, “Go ahead, Jones.”
“And that,” said Jupiter impressively, “brings us to the end of what might be called the Prologue of our little drama.” Things were going better than he had expected. “By now, some of you have probably guessed who painted this ‘Lotto’; and the person who painted that also painted the Perugino ‘Crucifixion’ and the Tiepolo ‘Condottiere.’ It’s really too bad Mr. Fitzgerald isn’t here to claim the honor and let us compliment him on his dexterity. However — from now on I am guessing. I may not be right on the details, but I think a checkup will prove that I’m not far off. Miss Slade, if you care to add any bits of information I should be delighted to hear them.”
Miss Slade maintained her stony silence.
“These paintings were purchased by the Museum five years ago. Is that correct, Professor Hadley?
“Five years ago? Er, no, Mr. Jones — four, I believe. Yes, that’s it — four.”
Jupiter nodded. “Four years ago. Professor Singer supervised the purchase, and the original pictures — not these that we have here now — were duly hung amid the proper ceremony. Invitations were sent out, tea was drunk, and everything went beautifully. Critics raved about the marvelous new paintings in the Fogg Museum and rightly so, because they were the originals. But before all this happened Singer had hatched as pretty a plan for gypping the Museum out of a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars as you’d like to see.”
He paused. It was well-timed. Miss Slade had slumped a little. Hadley gaped openly. Rankin was smiling.
“As a glance at the catalogue will show, Singer bought the paintings in Paris in the spring and brought them back with him in the fall. It so happened that Fitzgerald was there in Paris also. I don’t know that for a fact, but he must have been. Anyway, Singer persuaded him to get down to work and make forgeries of the paintings. He told Fitzgerald about his plan and it seemed to Fitzgerald too good to pass up. The plan was this: With the copies all made, Singer returns to Cambridge with the originals, and after the experts have gone over them they’ll be hung up. He keeps the copies in storage somewhere until he’s ready to use them. They decide to hold off for a few years until the excitement has died down around the Museum. Time passes. Remember that they were playing for big stakes and time didn’t matter to them. All right, Singer scouts for a dealer in New York, who turns out to be our old friend Mr. Epstein, and it takes on the proportions of a gang. The idea is that Singer will switch the paintings, send the originals to New York, and have them turn up as copies.”
Betty interrupted, “But that doesn’t make sense.”
“Patience,” said Jupiter. “Singer’s murder knocked the bottom out of the whole thing. It was the one thing that would throw the whole thing off, but he could hardly have foreseen that, could he? Let’s pretend he was never murdered. The paintings turn up in Mr. Epstein’s collection as copies. They are advertised as such and experts come to look at them. Pretty soon someone is going to say, ‘You know, Mr. Epstein, these may be copies, but they’re damn good ones; why don’t you take them to Cambridge and compare them with the originals?’ And that’s what Mr. Epstein does. What does he find? He finds that the Fogg’s paintings are the copies and his are the originals. Everyone’s shocked,
