"He's been after Sandro for years," she narrated. "I am afraid there isn't the shadow of a doubt, Free, but that Sandy is the cleverest picture thief in the world. They have almost got him half a dozen times, but never with conclusive evidence. And thank God, they didn't get him this time, either--not yet at least! Why, do you know, they are certain that he took the Scarpia panels? It seems, if you remember, that they thought that they had been found in the cellar. But it wasn't the originals that they found. They were reproductions--synthetic pictures, like a near-ruby--do you get me?" "But the recovery was reported in the papers," I objected. "The French Government hushed the matter up in order to try and catch him off his guard," she went on. "And, Free, that's just what he has done in this very house." "How do you mean--explain yourself grammatically if possible," said I. "I mean that the Madonna of the Lamp which is hanging in the library at this moment is the bunk," replied Peaches earnestly. "It's a fake--painted on new canvas and nicely antiqued. The cops took it down and showed it to us." "And what did he want to steal a fake for?" I demanded. "He didn't want to steal a fake, you dear old prune!" said Peaches, half laughing. "He wanted to steal the original, and that's exactly what he did." "And got away with it!" I gasped, astonished into a colloquialism. "But when and how on earth?" "Very simple, but clever," she told me, quite as if it were to the young man's credit. "He had this fake all ready on a stretcher in his room. He took the original, stretcher and all, out of the frame and upstairs, where he unmounted it and hid it--it isn't large, you know. And then, before he could slip the substitute into place, you and I came in from the garden--from the garden where we had been waiting for him to--to----" Here she broke off and began to laugh hysterically. "Come, come, my dear!" I cried. "Don't do that--just remember what a lucky escape you have had. So we interrupted him before he could put the substitute in place! Well, land of goodness! I do recall that he was all dressed when he came down stairs at Mr. Markheim's command! Go on, do, my dear!" "Well," said Peaches, complying with renewed composure, "this Pedro-bird claims that Sandy slipped it in while we were all out in the hall with the servants and he was in and out apparently taking care of Markheim's orders. If the secret-service men hadn't been on the job Sandy would in all probability have simply stayed his two weeks out as a quiet well-behaved servant, and then gone away with a first-class reference and the original Madonna, and the substitution might never have been found out, or it might have been years--until some feast was held by a lot of experts at Mark's invitation--who knows! And he's been doing this sort of thing for years and years!"