“There is a painting at one side of the show room,” said he.  “It is under a large green curtain.  Is that of General Wayne?”

“It is,” replied the clerk.  “And I believe that he valued it more than anything else that he owned.”

Stillman laughed with pleasure.

“Now,” said he to his visitors, “we are getting at it, indeed.  Someone probably knew of the value he attached to this painting and planned to steal it, perhaps for a ransom.  Hume has been suspected of doing this sort of thing himself before now.  He was supposed to have engaged someone to do the actual work, I believe, as in the case of the Whistler portrait of the Duchess of Winterton.  Suppose this someone,” and Stillman rapped his knuckles upon the edge of the desk excitedly, “took the notion to go into the picture stealing business of his own account.  Hume himself with his much prized portrait of General Wayne was ready at hand—­and so,” with a sweeping gesture, “what has happened, has happened.”

Pendleton, much impressed, looked at Ashton-Kirk.  But the latter’s thoughts seemed far away; his eyes were fixed upon the wall; his expression was of delighted anticipation.

Stillman also noticed this non-attention to his reasoning, and a little wrinkle of discontent appeared between his brows.  So he turned his gaze upon Brolatsky and spoke rather sharply.

“Now, as to Mr. Hume’s intimates?  What do you know of them?”

Isidore Brolatsky shifted in his chair; his long fingers began to drum upon his knees.

“I have known of the matter of the Whistler portrait,” said he, “but I never knew anything more about it than what I read in the newspapers.  It happened before my time.”

“I’m not accusing you,” said Stillman.  “I’m asking you about Hume’s friends.”

The clerk considered.

“There was no one that I ever saw or heard of that you could call his friend, exactly,” said he at length.  “He made game of people too much to have any I guess.”

“Had he no associates—­no one with whom he spent his time?”

Brolatsky shook his head.

“Perhaps so; but then I was only in Christie Place during business hours.  I have heard that he frequently went out at night; but where I do not know.”

“Was there no one who came to visit him while you were there during the day.  No one whom he spoke of in an intimate way?”

Again the clerk shook his head.  Stillman began to appear nonplussed.  He looked at the other, pondering and frowning through his glasses.

“Who came most frequently to the store?” he inquired finally.

“Why, I think Antonio Spatola,” said Brolatsky.

“Was he a customer?”

The clerk smiled.

“Oh, no.  He’s a street musician.  You may have seen him often about the city.  He plays the violin and carries some trained cockatoos upon a perch.”

“What was the nature of his business at Hume’s?”