"It all belongs to me," he said. "I
took it for the mortgage, with everything in it."
"By the bye," said Malipieri, "what became of that Velasquez, and
those other pictures?"
"Was there a Velasquez?" enquired the Baron carelessly, without
changing his attitude.
"Yes. It was famous all over Europe. It was a family portrait."
"I remember! It turned out to be a copy after all."
"A copy!" repeated Malipieri incredulously.
"Yes, the original is in Madrid," answered the Baron with
imperturbable self-possession.
"And all those other pictures turned out to be copies, too, I
daresay," suggested Malipieri.
"Every one of them. It was a worthless collection."
"In that case it was hardly worth while to take so much trouble in
getting them out of the country secretly." Malipieri smiled.
"That was the dealer's affair," answered Volterra without the least
hesitation. "Dealers are such fools! They always make a mystery of
everything."
Malipieri could not help admiring the proportions and qualities of the
Baron's lies. The financier was well aware that Malipieri knew the
pictures to be genuine beyond all doubt. The disposal of them had been
well managed, for when Malipieri moved into the palace there was not a
painting of value left on the walls, yet there had been no mention of
them in the newspapers, nor any gossip about them, and the public at
large believed them to be still in their places.
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