I could not send the picture direct, because that would have meant either an intermediary or myself carrying it. I could not send the note by express, because that would have meant a visit to the post office at a given registered time. Hence the pillar box, which, though safe, gave me one further anxiety--fear lest the Piccadilly Circus station should also be consumed by fire in the night; but this very unlikely contingency did not keep me awake, for, as Trist says, "The art of life is to take all reasonable precautions and then throw the responsibility on the shoulders of Fate." The next day nothing happened, but _The Times_ of the morning after had the whole glorious story. The lines "RECOVERY OF A LOST MASTERPIECE. THE STOLEN VERROCCHIO." caught my eye at once, and I settled down to the perusal of what still is to me the most amusing piece of literature in the language. "Listen," I said to Naomi, "here's something interesting," and I read as follows: "'It will be remembered that some four years ago the world was startled by the news that the portrait of an unknown woman, attributed to Verrocchio, the master of Leonardo da Vinci, had disappeared from the National Gallery. The theft was contrived in full daylight, probably by a clever gang whose plans had long been maturing, and although Scotland Yard exerted every effort, no trace of the miscreant was found. Yesterday the Director received, by the first post, a letter in a disguised hand enclosing a ticket for the cloak-room at Piccadilly Circus station on the Hammersmith-Finsbury Park Railway, and the parcel when opened was found to contain the missing picture. As to who brought the parcel in, the cloak-room attendant has no knowledge; he is too busy, he says, to take particular notice of people, but he fancies it was an elderly woman. "'The picture has been subjected to the most careful scrutiny, and is found to be in perfect condition, and any question of its being a copy may be set aside. The nation is to be congratulated on the recovery of such a treasure. No doubt certain lines of investigation will be followed, but it is not likely that the Trustees will wish to devote any large portion of their very exiguous income to the inquiry, which after all could afford only a certain sentimental satisfaction. We may take it that the restitution sufficiently indicates the remorse of the thief, and let the question of punishment go. "'The picture, we may add, came into the possession of the nation in 1888, the bequest of a wealthy merchant and connoisseur named James Murchison, who committed suicide on a voyage to America very shortly after leaving Queenstown. This is the same James Murchison who founded and endowed the Murchison night refuges all over London." I need hardly add that there followed a short article proving that whoever painted the picture it was most certainly not Verrocchio. "What a strange thing!" said Naomi. "How did you say the picture was returned?"