“Yes, I confess in all humility that I know nothing. For I do not call it ‘knowing anything’ that I happen to have hit upon two or three more precise points which, I am sure, cannot have escaped you.” “For instance?” “For instance, the object of the theft.” “Ah, of course, you know the object of the theft?” “As you do, I have no doubt. In fact, it was the first thing I studied, because the task struck me as easier.” “Easier, really?” “Why, of course. At the most, it’s a question of reasoning.” “Nothing more than that?” “Nothing more.” “And what is your reasoning?” “It is just this, stripped of all extraneous comment: on the one hand, _there has been a theft_, because the two young ladies are agreed and because they really saw two men running away and carrying things with them.” “There has been a theft.” “On the other hand, _nothing has disappeared_, because M. de Gesvres says so and he is in a better position than anybody to know.” “Nothing has disappeared.” “From those two premises I arrive at this inevitable result: granted that there has been a theft and that nothing has disappeared, it is because the object carried off has been replaced by an exactly similar object. Let me hasten to add that possibly my argument may not be confirmed by the facts. But I maintain that it is the first argument that ought to occur to us and that we are not entitled to waive it until we have made a serious examination.” “That’s true—that’s true,” muttered the magistrate, who was obviously interested. “Now,” continued Isidore, “what was there in this room that could arouse the covetousness of the burglars? Two things. The tapestry first. It can’t have been that. Old tapestry cannot be imitated: the fraud would have been palpable at once. There remain the four Rubens pictures.” “What’s that you say?” “I say that the four Rubenses on that wall are false.” “Impossible!” “They are false _a priori_, inevitably and without a doubt.” “I tell you, it’s impossible.” “It is very nearly a year ago, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, since a young man, who gave his name as Charpenais, came to the Château d’Ambrumésy and asked permission to copy the Rubens pictures. M. de Gesvres gave him permission. Every day for five months Charpenais worked in this room from morning till dusk. The copies which he made, canvases and frames, have taken the place of the four original pictures bequeathed to M. de Gesvres by his uncle, the Marqués de Bobadilla.” “Prove it!” “I have no proof to give. A picture is false because it is false; and I consider that it is not even necessary to examine these four.” M. Filleul and Ganimard exchanged glances of unconcealed astonishment. The inspector no longer thought of withdrawing. At last, the magistrate muttered: “We must have M. de Gesvres’s opinion.” And Ganimard agreed: “Yes, we must have his opinion.” And they sent to beg the count to come to the drawing room.