"Why should he wish that? And even if he does, it is impossible for him to conceal it. The sale of so notable a work of art would be mentioned in all the papers, together with the name of the buyer." "Not necessarily. An agent may have bought it for a client who wishes his name to be kept secret. Or the sale may have been a private affair between Angelo and the purchaser." "Granted," he agreed. "To tell you the truth, Frank, there's something about Angelo's success I can't understand. How, after his many failures, he has contrived, by the exhibition of one picture only, to acquire so great a name is a mystery." "So the public seem to think. Here is the _Standard's_ account of it." I passed the paper to my uncle, who read as far as he could, and then exclaimed: "The end has been torn off!" "Yes, by Angelo this morning when he lit his cigar; designedly torn off, I believe. This is a fragment of the burnt piece," I said, laying it before him. My uncle did not betray the excitement that I had expected of him. "So you think the mutilation of this newspaper intentional?" he asked with a half-smile. "I am certain of it." "How suspicious you are growing of Il Divino! A lover's jealousy, I suppose," he said, knocking the ash of his cigar into the fender. "There was something in that paper that Angelo did not wish us to see," I replied. "That something, whatever it was, was probably peculiar to this paper, and Angelo supposes that if we are prevented from taking note of it now, we shall never hear of it again." My uncle regarded me with a look of good-humoured surprise before taking a whiff again at his cigar. "Nonsense!" he returned. "My dear Frank, whatever was in the _Standard_ cannot be a secret. It's absurd to suppose that Angelo is trying to keep from us that with which a large number of the reading public is already familiar." "Yes, but the reading public are not, like us, behind the scenes and familiar with the artist. In a sentence they would pass over as of no note we, who can read between the lines, might discover something." "Well, what is this something we might discover?" "'An Anglo-Indian officer,'" I said, tracing the words with my finger. "George is an Anglo-Indian officer; so are his chief friends. 'The Anglo-Indian officer' alluded to here is either George himself--and, if so, this passage would afford a clue to his movements--or it is a friend of his, recently returned from India, and from whom information respecting George might be obtained." "Granting your inference, what motive has Angelo for wishing to conceal the fact from us?"