It was not without a mental struggle that I consented to forego the pleasure of Daphne's companionship for several hours, but my anxiety to penetrate the mystery surrounding the missing picture was so great that it overcame the fascination even of love. The sound of approaching voices told me that the doctor and the Baronet were entering the drawing-room. "And so," remarked the latter, "you have made up your mind to go to the church?" "Yes," replied the doctor, drawing on a pair of gloves; "though not from any particular wish to aid in the decorating." "No?" "No! A very different motive takes me there. Your young friend, the artist Vasari, is going." "Yes?" "I have taken a deep interest in him." "Ah! how is that?" "He is a psychological study." And with these words the doctor walked away, flourishing his cane in a mysterious manner. CHAPTER XIII WHAT THE ARTIST'S PORTFOLIO REVEALED The company departed for the village church; and the Baronet, my uncle, and myself, aided by the servants, whose zeal had been stimulated by the promise of a liberal reward to whomsoever should discover the picture, proceeded to search the length and breadth and depth of the Abbey. Every room, including the bedrooms of the guests, was subjected to a careful inspection; places the most unlikely to be selected as the hiding-place of the famous _chef-d'oeuvre_ were examined by keen eyes, but all in vain. We might as well have looked for the Holy Grail, said by poets to have vanished somewhere in this very neighborhood. Late in the afternoon of the day--it was Christmas Eve--we stood on the terrace overlooking the undulating extent of woodland that formed the grounds of the Abbey. The sun was now low down on the horizon. Its dying splendour tinged with red hues the ivy-mantled Nuns' Tower, that rose in solitary grandeur on one side of the Abbey. The Baronet's eye was resting on this tower, and his thoughts reverted to the tenant of it. "Angelo can explain the disappearance of the missing picture," he said suddenly. "You think so?" returned my uncle. "I am loath to suspect him, but I cannot help thinking that he carried it off in the night." "He carried it off well in the morning, then," responded my uncle jocularly. "Who would have thought from his surprise and agitation that he himself had removed it!" "His surprise and agitation were assumed, to disarm suspicion." "Perhaps. But what is his motive for the removal?" "From certain things you have told me, I believe he is determined that neither you nor Frank shall see his great masterpiece." The Baronet's opinion was one that I had long held. "Why not, in Heaven's name?" cried my amazed uncle. "Ah, that is a reason best known to himself. I fancy--it seems absurd to say it--that the picture, when seen by you, will reveal something that is entirely passed over by others: something detrimental to himself, I mean--what, I cannot undertake to say." "What can he have done with it?"