As a matter of fact
most of them were already in France and England, and the Velasquez was
in Saint Petersburg.
"I understand why you are anxious that the Palazzo Conti should not be
watched just now," Malipieri said. "For my part, as I do not believe
in your government, I cannot be expected to believe in its laws. It is
not my business whether you respect them yourselves or not."
"Who is breaking the law?" asked the Baron roughly. "It is absurd to
talk in that way. But as the government has taken it into its head to
suspect that you do, it is not advisable for me, who am a staunch
supporter of the government, to see too much of you. I am sure you
must understand that--it is so simple."
"In other words?" Malipieri looked at him coldly, waiting for an
explanation.
"I cannot afford to have it said that you are living in the palace for
the purpose of helping dealers to smuggle objects of art out of the
country. That is what I mean."
"I see. But what objects of art do you mean, since you have already
sent away everything there was?"
"It is believed that you had something to do with that ridiculous
affair of the copies," said Volterra, his voice suddenly becoming
oily.
"They were gone when I moved in."
"I daresay they were. But it would be hard to prove, and of course the
people who bought the pictures from the dealer insist that they are
genuine, so that there may be trouble some day, and you may be annoyed
about the things if you stay here any longer.
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