Though, to be sure, my experience has been that picture dealers
are--picture dealers. Horses rank first in my mind as begetters and
producers of unscrupulous agents, but pictures run them a very good
second. Anyhow, we found out that our distinguished art-critic
picked up his Rembrandt at this dealer's shop, and came down with
it in his care the same night to Brighton.
In order not to act precipitately, and so ruin our plans, we induced
Dr. Polperro (what a cleverly chosen name!) to bring the Rembrandt
round to the Metropole for our inspection, and to leave it with us
while we got the opinion of an expert from London.
The expert came down, and gave us a full report upon the alleged
Old Master. In his judgment, it was not a Rembrandt at all, but
a cunningly-painted and well-begrimed modern Dutch imitation.
Moreover, he showed us by documentary evidence that the real
portrait of Maria Vanrenen had, as a matter of fact, been brought
to England five years before, and sold to Sir J. H. Tomlinson, the
well-known connoisseur, for eight thousand pounds. Dr. Polperro's
picture was, therefore, at best either a replica by Rembrandt; or
else, more probably, a copy by a pupil; or, most likely of all,
a mere modern forgery.
We were thus well prepared to fasten our charge of criminal
conspiracy upon the self-styled Doctor.
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