It is a very unusual thing
for Charles to look back while driving. I gathered from his doing
so that he was inordinately anxious to possess this Rembrandt.
When we arrived at Lewes we put up our horses at the inn,
and Charles ordered a lunch on his wonted scale of princely
magnificence. Meanwhile we wandered, two and two, about the town
and castle. I annexed Lady Belleisle, who is at least amusing.
Charles drew me aside before starting. "Look here, Sey," he
said, "we must be _very_ careful. This man, Polperro, is a chance
acquaintance. There's nothing an astute rogue can take one in over
more easily than an Old Master. If the Rembrandt is genuine I
ought to have it; if it really represents Maria Vanrenen, it's a
duty I owe to the boys to buy it. But I've been done twice lately,
and I won't be done a third time. We must go to work cautiously."
"You are right," I answered. "No more seers and curates!"
"If this man's an impostor," Charles went on--"and in spite of what
he says about the National Gallery and so forth, we know nothing of
him--the story he tells is just the sort of one such a fellow would
trump up in a moment to deceive me. He could easily learn who I
was--I'm a well-known figure; he knew I was in Brighton, and he
may have been sitting on that glass seat on Sunday on purpose to
entrap me.
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