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非洲的百万富翁|Millionaire in Africa

第三章　大师名作|Chapter III The Episode of the Old Master

属类： 双语小说 【分类】双语小说 -[作者: 格兰特-艾伦] 阅读：[7513]
《非洲的百万富翁》讲述了骗子克雷上校与查尔斯爵士斗智斗勇的故事.克雷上校通过伪装成不同的身份,如墨西哥先知,小牧师理查德·佩普洛·布拉巴宗,施莱尔马赫教授等欺骗查尔斯,令查尔斯防不胜防.而案情的揭露则是通过克雷上校在事后给查尔斯发来的羞辱信,把他实施作案的过程揭露出来的.最终,克雷上校受到了法律的制裁
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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查尔斯和大多数南非人一样，最不喜欢久坐不动。他讨厌坐着，必须常常“跋涉”一下。要是不能随心所欲地到处走动，就会要了他的命。在梅费尔一下子待上六个星期，这是他能忍受的极限了。之后，他就会忍不住，跑到苏格兰、洪堡、蒙特卡洛、比亚里茨去休息休息，换换环境。“我才不会像帽贝一样永远趴在石头上。”他说。于是，早秋时候，我们就入住到了布莱顿市的大都市酒店。和往常一样，还是我们和睦的一小家人——查尔斯和艾米莉亚，伊莎贝尔和我，还是和平日一样住的套房。

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到那里之后的第一个周日早上，我和查尔斯就出去溜达了——很遗憾，是在做礼拜的时间出去的——走到英皇大道，去呼吸一点新鲜空气，看看海峡中翻滚的波浪。那两位女士（戴着软帽）去做礼拜了。查尔斯劳累了一周，非常疲惫，很晚才起床，而我早起后有些头痛，我觉得是由于台球室的空气不流通；再者，还有可能是我喝的一种不太习惯的苏打水在作怪，我喝它主要是想冲淡一下晚上饮的威士忌。我们打算稍后在教堂巡行的人群中与她们见面——我觉得艾米莉亚还有伊莎贝尔对于这一仪式的重视程度要胜于这之前的布道。

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我们一起坐在玻璃座位上。查尔斯的目光来来回回地在英皇大道上搜寻，想找位卖星期日报纸的报童。最后终于有个报童过来。“《观察家新闻报》。”我内兄简短地叫道。

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“没有了，”报童答道，在我们面前晃了晃他那一摞报纸，“要不要《裁判员报》？或者《粉安报》？”

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查尔斯不看《裁判员报》，至于《粉安报》，他觉得不太适合周日早上在大庭广众之下看。也许可以在房间里看看，但在外面看的话，报纸粉红的颜色把一切都暴露了。于是，他摇摇头，低声说道：“要是你碰到卖《观察家新闻报》的，让他马上到我这儿来。”

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这时，我们旁边紧挨着坐的一位文质彬彬的陌生人转过身，面带微笑。“我给你一份怎么样？”他一边说，一边从口袋里掏出一份报纸，“我想，我买的是最后一份。今天大家都争着买它，它今天早上登了来自德兰士瓦的重要新闻。”

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查尔斯扬了扬眉毛，接了过来，在我看来，他的态度有点粗暴。为了避免这位好心人对他产生一种粗暴无礼的误解，于是我便同这位热心的陌生人攀谈起来。他是个中年人，中等身材，举手投足间透露着涵养，戴了一副金边夹鼻眼镜，他目光犀利，声音透着优雅。不一会儿，他就谈到了当时布莱顿的知名人士。很显然，他同许多名流都交情不浅。我们谈到了尼斯、罗马、佛罗伦萨还有开罗。我们的许多朋友他好像也都认识；说实话，虽然我们双方的交际圈有这么多交集，不过很奇怪，在这之前却没有碰到过对方。

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“查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士，那位了不起的非洲百万富翁，”他最后问了一句，“你知不知道他？听说他目前就在这儿，住在大都会酒店。”

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我朝我们正在谈论着的那人挥了挥手。

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“这位就是查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士，”我答道，心里有一种独有的自豪感，“我是他妹夫，西摩·温特沃斯。”

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“哦，这样！”那陌生人答道，很奇怪，给人一种欲言又止的感觉。我在想，他是不是刚才要装作认识查尔斯，或者是不是刚准备要贬损他几句，庆幸还好没有说出口。

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这时，查尔斯放下报纸，同我们一起攀谈起来。我从他缓和的语气中立刻明白，德兰士瓦的新闻，对他克罗地多普·戈尔康达公司的经营有利，因此他的态度变得友善和蔼起来。他整个人立刻都变了，对那位文雅的陌生人也变得礼貌起来。此外，我们还了解到，那名男子在上流社会活动，结识了一些人士，一些艾米莉亚渴望能邀请来参加她在梅费尔举办的“家庭招待会”的人士——年轻的小说家费斯，还有了不起的北极旅行家理查德·蒙特罗斯爵士。说到画家，很明显，这人同他们中许多人都是莫逆之交。他同美术院会员一起吃过饭，每周还请协会成员共进早餐。现在，艾米莉亚极其希望，她的沙龙不应当看起来仅仅局限于一些金融界和政界人物——有下院议员还有百万富翁们作为坚实的后盾——她现在转而钟爱文学、艺术以及音乐这股清雅的暗流。我们的这位新相识极其健谈。“西，他知道自己在社会中的位置，”查尔斯后来对我说，“因此说起话来天马行空，不必过虑。不过，很多人拿不准自己的位置，往往会担心这一点。”我们起身告别时交换了名片。这位新朋友的名字是爱德华·伯尔派罗博士。

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“你在这儿行医吗？”我问，不过他的装束不太像医生。

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“哦，我不是医生，”他答道，“是法学博士，你该知道的。我对艺术感兴趣，就某种意义上来讲，可以说我是为国家美术馆购买一些作品。”

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这正是艾米莉亚“家庭招待会”所要的人！查尔斯立即稳住他。“我把自己的马车也带过来了，”他以自己最友好的态度说，“我们打算明天驾车去刘易斯市。要是您愿意赏光一同前去，我敢保证，凡德里夫特夫人见到你一定会非常高兴。”

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“咱们仅有一面之交，”博士说，“你就如此热情。我明天肯定会欣然前去。”

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“我们十点半从大都会酒店出发。”查尔斯接着说。

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“我一定到。早安！”他边说边起身离开，点点头，会心地笑了。

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我们又回到草坪，来到艾米莉亚和伊莎贝尔身边。那位新朋友从我们面前经过一两次，查尔斯拦住他，并做了介绍。当时，他正同两位女士一起散步，她们装束精致、奇特，极其优雅。艾米莉亚一下子就注意到了他的举止。“谁都能一眼看出，”她说，“他这人有涵养，真正卓尔不群。我在想，他能不能把英国皇家艺术院院长一起请来，参加我两周后的周三举办的议会‘家庭招待会’？”

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第二天十点半，我们驾车启程。我们的车马可以算是苏塞克斯地区最棒的。查尔斯虽说有点急躁——或者，最好说是有点小心翼翼？——但驾车技术不错。他现在实际上正忙着驾驭两匹前马两匹后马，没时间和我们闲谈。来自比肯的贝莱斯尔夫人在他旁边，坐在车夫座位上，容光焕发（她一直都是这样，这得归功于她的女仆）；伯尔派罗博士坐在后排，同我和艾米莉亚一起。他大部分时间在同凡德里夫特夫人交谈：他谈的都是关于画廊的。艾米莉亚很反感，但又觉得作为查尔斯的妻子，偶尔假装有个高雅的兴趣爱好，是她义不容辞的责任。是贵族就得名副其实。我们在罗斯郡的住所，塞尔登堡，几乎满墙都是钱玛还有奥查德森的作品。事情起因于一件小小的意外。查尔斯爵士想要一匹前马——你也知道，为他马车准备的前马——于是把此事告诉了一位搞艺术的朋友。这位搞艺术的朋友第二周就给他弄来一幅钱玛的作品，把牲畜当成了人名。查尔斯爵士吃了一惊，羞于承认所犯的这个错误。于是后来稀里糊涂地成了绘画的赞助人。

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虽然伯尔派罗博士张口闭口谈的都是艺术，不过仔细观察一番，你就会发现他是位极为称心如意的伴侣。谈论艺术时，他巧妙地穿插着一些逸事丑闻。他告诉我们，哪位知名画家和自己的厨子结了婚，哪位画家又娶了自己的模特，如此这般，和他谈话非常有趣。不过，他有一次提到，说自己发现了一幅伦勃朗的真迹——千真万确，在某个不知名的荷兰人家中保存了多年。大家一直都认为那幅画是伦勃朗的杰作，不过，除了几个关系亲近的人之外，在过去半个世纪中很少有人亲眼看见该画作。那幅肖像画，画的是哈勒姆的玛丽亚·范雷内，他从她在荷兰豪达的子孙们的手中买了过来。

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虽然查尔斯看起来没怎么太在意，但我却注意到他支起了耳朵。这位叫玛丽亚·范雷内的，碰巧是凡德里夫特家族在1780年移民到开普敦之前的一位旁系先人。虽然不知道这幅画到底在哪儿，但整个家族都知道它确实存在。伊莎贝尔也经常提起它。要是价格合适能把它买到手，让孩子们（我应该提一句，查尔斯爵士有两个儿子在伊顿公学读书）拥有一幅先人的肖像画，还是伦勃朗的真迹，该是多么光彩的事情。

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之后，关于这个重大发现，伯尔派罗博士又说了很多。他一开始先想方设法把它卖给国家美术馆，不过尽管美术馆的董事们十分欣赏这幅作品，也承认它是真品，但很遗憾，他们今年手头的资金不足，无法以合适的价格购买这么名贵的一幅画。南肯辛顿也一样，太缺钱。不过，他目前正和罗浮宫还有柏林方面谈判。但很可惜，这么精美的一件艺术作品，一度流入国内，竟又得再次流失海外。应由某位爱国的艺术赞助人把它买下来，放在自己家中，或者慷慨地献给国家。

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查尔斯自始至终没说一句话，但我可以察觉到他一直在思考。他甚至在快到一个急转弯时，还往后看了一眼（刹车员正忙着嘟嘟地吹喇叭，提醒路人有马车过来），给艾米莉亚递了个眼神，提醒她不要做出任何承诺，这立刻就让她暂时闭了嘴。查尔斯驾车的时候回头看，这很不寻常。从他这一举止中，我猜他非常迫切地想要得到这幅伦勃朗的作品。

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我们到刘易斯市后，把马匹寄在了旅店，查尔斯同平日一样点了一顿豪华奢侈的午餐。与此同时，我们两两一起在小镇还有城堡附近闲逛。我选择同贝莱斯尔夫人一起，她至少比较有趣。出发前，查尔斯把我拉到一边，说道：“西，听我说，咱们必须万分小心。咱们只是偶然碰到伯尔派罗这个人。狡猾的无赖打算骗人，再没有什么比大师作品更容易得逞了。如果那幅伦勃朗的作品是真的，那么我就应当拥有它；如果画的真是玛丽亚·范雷内，那么我就有义务替孩子们把它买到手。不过，最近我已经被骗了两次，我可不想再被骗一次。咱们必须要小心行事。”

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“说得不错，”我应道，“别再来什么先知或者副牧师了！”

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“不论他如何谈论国家美术馆之类的，我们都对他一无所知，”查尔斯继续说道，“如果这人是个骗子，那么他所讲的故事都是这种人临时捏造出来骗我的。他很容易就能知道我是谁——我可是位知名人物。他知道我在布莱顿，很可能星期天就一直坐在那玻璃座位上，专门来引我上钩。”

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“他提到了你的名字，”我说，“当他得知我的身份时，就立刻和我攀谈起来。”

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“对，”查尔斯继续道，“他也许知道玛丽亚·范雷内这幅肖像。我奶奶经常提到，说这幅画保存在豪达。实际上，我也常常提到它，你肯定也记得。这样的话，一个无赖一开始就跟艾米莉亚谈那幅画，还装作毫不知情，还有比这更自然不过的吗？如果他想要一幅伦勃朗的作品，我相信在伯明翰想要多少就会有多少。我说这番话，是想说咱们应当小心行事。”

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“说得对，”我答道，“我会时刻留心他的。”

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我们从另一条路驾车回去，路上满是金秋时节山毛榉树的树影。这次出行很愉快。伯尔派罗博士吃了午饭，喝了香醇的独家干红葡萄酒，兴致很高。他说起话来口若悬河，我从没见过谁能抖出这么多杂七杂八的趣事。他哪儿都去过，知道所有人的一切事情。艾米莉亚当即“预约”，让他去参加自己下周三的“家庭招待会”，他则答应将她引见给几位文艺界的名人。

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那天晚上大约七点半，我和查尔斯饭前一起在英皇大道上散散步，吹吹风。我们八点钟吃饭。空气很怡人。我们途经一家新开的小酒店，酒店很小很独特，有扇非常大的弓形窗。在灯光的明暗交界处，我们的朋友伯尔派罗坐在那里，穿着晚礼服，对面是位年轻、优雅、漂亮的女士。他面前开着一瓶香槟，自己尽情地吃着温室的葡萄，谈笑风生。很显然，他同那位女士都被某个滑稽的笑话完全逗乐了，因为他们彼此奇怪地盯着对方，时不时爆发出阵阵愉快的笑声。

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我退后几步，查尔斯也是。我们两人头脑中突然闪过同一个念头。我小声说道：“克雷上校！”他应声道：“还有皮卡迪特夫人！”

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他们根本不像理查德副牧师还有布拉巴宗夫人。不过，这也刚好说明了问题。因为我也没看到墨西哥先知那鹰钩鼻子的踪迹。即便这样，当时我已经明白，不要完全相信外表。如果他们俩真是那位知名的骗子以及他妻子（或者称之为共犯），那我们必须得十分小心。这一次，我们提前戒备了起来。假如他胆敢试着第三次骗我们，他绝对逃不出我们的掌心。不过，我们必须得采取一些措施，不让他从我们手中狡猾地溜掉。

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“他能像泥鳅一样溜走。”尼斯的警长这么说。我们俩都想起了这句话，便开始精心地制订计划，以免他第三次从我们手中溜掉。

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“西，我给你说说计划，”我内兄缓缓说道，“这一次，我们必须故意让自己受骗，必须主动要求购买那幅画，让他以书面形式保证画是真品，并且要想方设法用最苛刻的条件来约束他。不过，与此同时，我们必须看起来没有任何怀疑，要装作像婴儿般天真。不管他对我们撒什么谎，都全盘接受。为肖像画支付的钱，用支票付——只是做做样子。只要交易一完成，就立刻抓捕他，证据俱在。当然，接下来他会用尽浑身解数立刻逃之夭夭，就像在尼斯和巴黎碰到他时那样；但这次，我们会让警方随时待命，把一切准备妥当。不能鲁莽，但也不能耽搁误事。一定要等到他真正地接过钱，装进腰包时才能动手。那时，我们就立刻抓住他，把他送到当地的法庭。这就是我这次的行动计划。在此期间，我们要看起来单纯、朴实，得让他深信不疑。”

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于是，我们开始实施这个周详的计划，第二天就去伯尔派罗博士下榻的酒店拜访他，他把我们引见给了他妻子，她是一位秀丽的小妇人。我们假装不去在她身上找傲慢无礼的皮卡迪特夫人，还有心思单纯的“白石南花”的身影。博士（同往常一样）饶有兴致地谈着艺术——他可真是个无所不知的无赖，绝对的！——查尔斯爵士也对那幅假定的伦勃朗的作品表现出了些许兴趣。我们的这位新朋友很高兴，从他那努力抑制的急促语气中，我们可以看出，他一眼就知道我们是潜在的买家。他说，他会第二天去伦敦，把那幅肖像画带过来。实际上，第二天早上，当我和查尔斯跟平常一样坐上普耳曼卧车，去参加半年一度的克罗地多普·戈尔康达会议时，我们的那位博士也在那车上，躺在靠椅上，好像整个车子都是他的。查尔斯给我递了个意味深长的眼神。“他可真会享受，不是吗？”他低声说，“这车费是从我那被骗走的五千英镑中出的，或者，就当是那幅假的伦勃朗的作品少骗了我一点。”

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到了伦敦，我们就立刻投入工作。我们从马维尔那里请了位私家侦探，安排他去监视我们那位朋友。从他口中得知，那位所谓的博士当天去了西区，从一位商贩那里取了幅画（我隐去那人的名字，因为担心会有人告我诽谤），据了解，那人此前牵扯到几件名声不好，或者说声名狼藉的交易。不过，说真的，我一直以为画商就只是——卖画的。在我看来，赛马是最容易造就一些寡廉鲜耻的经纪人的，但有了字画，赛马就只能屈居第二了。言归正传，我们发现那位著名的艺术评论家从这位商贩的铺子里取走了伦勃朗的画，当天晚上小心翼翼地带到了布莱顿。

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为了不贸然行事，以免破坏我们的计划，我们诱劝伯尔派罗（名字起得可真够巧妙！）把那幅伦勃朗的画带到大都市酒店，让我们检验一番，把画留在我们那儿，好听听伦敦专家的意见。

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专家来了，就这幅据称是大师的画作，向我们做了一个全面的汇报。据他判断，这根本不是伦勃朗的作品，只不过是一幅笔法精妙，又刻意弄旧的现代荷兰赝品。此外，他还用档案证据向我们展示，真正的玛丽亚·范雷内的肖像画实际上已经在五年前被带到了英国，卖给了J.H.汤姆林森爵士，就是那位知名的鉴赏家，卖了八千英镑。所以伯尔派罗博士的画，充其量是伦勃朗自己的复制品，或者更有可能是他学生的作品；不过，最有可能的，只是现代的伪造品罢了。

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因此，我们做好了充分准备，去指控这位自称博士的人的犯罪阴谋。但为了确保万无一失，我们隐隐地给他提个醒，说玛丽亚·范雷内的肖像画真的有可能在别处，甚至还当面暗示道，那画极有可能落入了那位无所不收的收藏家J.H.汤姆林森爵士之手。不过，这位卖主根本不去理会对他商品如此这般的诋毁。他居然厚颜无耻地不顾档案证据，宣称J.H.汤姆林森（英国最见多识广、最精明狡黠的绘画买家之一）被一位穷困潦倒、有伪造天赋的荷兰艺术家巧妙地骗了。他宣称，真正的玛丽亚·范雷内的肖像画，就是他给我们的这幅，还发了誓。“让胜利冲昏了头脑，”查尔斯向我高兴地说道，“他觉得，不论自己对我们撒多大的慌，我们都会全盘接受。‘常在河边走，哪能不湿鞋。’我们这次将他一军。”说实话，他打的这个比方前后没什么逻辑，不过查尔斯打的比方，总是能让人挑出毛病来。

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于是，我们假装相信他，并相信了他的保证。接下来是价格的问题。讨论得很激烈，不过也仅仅是为了做做样子。J.H.汤姆林森花了八千英镑买了玛丽亚的真画，可对这幅赝品，博士却要价一万。实际上，我们根本没什么必要和他讨价还价、争来争去，因为查尔斯只是打算根据他要的数额开张支票，然后把这家伙抓起来；不过，为了不让他起疑心，我们觉得最好还是假装还价一番，最后把价格压到了九千基尼。不过，他得给我们一份书面保证，保证他卖给我们的作品是伦勃朗的真迹，保证画的是哈勒姆的玛丽亚·范雷内，并且保证毫无疑问这幅画是他从荷兰豪达那位女士的后人们手中直接购买过来的。

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一切都做得很漂亮，我们的安排堪称完美。我们叫来一名警察在大都市酒店房间外待命，决定让伯尔派罗博士在某个固定的时间到酒店来签保证书，然后收钱。双方起草了一份正式的协议，完整地盖了印章。“甲方”在约定的时间到了，把肖像画交给了我们。查尔斯取出一张约定金额的支票，签了字，接着递给了博士。伯尔派罗刚拿过支票，我就站到了门旁，这时，警局派来的两名便衣侦探就装作男仆守着，盯着窗户。我们生怕这个骗子一旦拿到支票就会逃掉，就像他在尼斯还有巴黎那样。在他带着胜利的微笑把支票装进口袋的那一刻，我迅速地走向他，手里拿着一副手铐。还没等他弄明白是怎么一回事，我早已敏捷地将手铐套到他手腕上并锁住。这时，警察也走上前来。“这次我们可抓到你了！”我喊道，“我们知道你是谁，伯尔派罗博士。你就是——克雷上校，化名安东尼奥·赫雷拉先知，还有理查德·佩普洛·布拉巴宗牧师。”

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我这辈子还从未见过谁会如此这般震惊！他完全惊呆了。查尔斯觉得，他肯定料想自己会立刻脱身走人，而我们及时采取的措施让他大吃一惊，一下子慌张失措。他凝视着周围，仿佛没有反应过来这到底是怎么一回事。

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“他们俩是疯子吗？乱说些什么？”他最后问道，“他们说的什么安东尼奥·赫雷拉的疯话是什么意思？”

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警察把手搭在囚犯的肩上。

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“别瞎费口舌了，伙计，”他说，“我们有逮捕令。爱德华·伯尔派罗，化名理查德·佩普洛·布拉巴宗，我逮捕你，因为你被指控通过欺诈手段从一等勋爵士、下院议员查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士手中骗取钱财。他对此发了誓，并在这儿签了字。”因为查尔斯事先已经将相关材料起草好了。

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那囚犯挺直了身子。“听着，长官，”他说，很生气，“咱们在这件事上有些误会。我这辈子从来没用过什么化名。你怎么知道他真的是查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士？说不定有人要冒名胁迫我。要我看，他们俩是一对从精神病院逃出来的疯子。”

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“明天再说这些！”警察抓着他，说道，“现在你得乖乖地跟我去一趟警局，这两位先生会在那儿把对你的指控登个记。”

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他们把他带走了，他还在抗议。我和查尔斯在案情记录表上签了字，警察把他锁了起来，等着第二天在法官面前进行审讯。

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即便现在这么做了，我们仍然担心这家伙会想方设法保释出去，从我们手中溜掉。实际上，他歇斯底里地抗议我们竟如此对待一位“他这种地位的绅士”。不过，查尔斯特地嘱咐警方，不要理睬他，说他是位十分危险、极其狡猾的罪犯，在法官审讯完毕之前，不论何种事由何种借口，都绝不能把他放走。

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说来也怪，我们当晚在酒店得知，真有位叫伯尔派罗的博士，那是位知名的艺术评论家。不过，我们觉得，抓住的这个骗子肯定一直在盗用他的名字。

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第二天早上，我们来到法庭，一位巡官过来迎接我们，脸拉得很长。“我说，先生们，”他说，“恐怕你们犯了一个十分严重的错误。你们可真行，把事情搞得一团糟。你们惹上麻烦了，更糟的是，把我们也牵扯了进来。你们搞的那些宣誓材料未免有点聪明过头了。我们已经质询过这位绅士了，发现他关于自己的描述完全没有问题。他叫伯尔派罗，是位知名的艺术评论家、绘画收藏家，在海外受雇于国家美术馆。他之前是南肯辛顿博物馆的官员、外科学士、法学博士，极其德高望重的一个人。你们犯了一个非常可悲的错误，事情就是这样。你们很可能会受到一项非法监禁的指控，这恐怕把我们部门也牵扯了进来。”

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查尔斯倒吸了一口气，声音中满是恐惧，大声叫道：“你们不会就凭着这些荒唐的陈词就把他放了吧？不会让他像那个杀人犯那样从你们手中溜掉了吧？”

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“让他从我们手中溜掉？”巡官叫道，“我倒是希望他能溜掉。很不幸，没这个机会了。此刻，他就在法庭上，被你们俩气得火冒三丈。我们到这儿是为了保护你们，怕他万一袭击你们。因为你们的虚假证词，他被关了一整夜，当然了，他现在气得要发疯。”

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“只要你没放他走就好，”查尔斯答道，“他是只狡猾的狐狸。他在哪儿？让我见见他。”

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我们来到法庭。在庭中，我们看到那囚犯正兴高采烈地同法官亲切交谈（貌似法官是他的一位私交）。查尔斯立刻上前同他们说话，伯尔派罗博士转过身，透过夹鼻眼镜瞪着他。

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“这个人行为怪异，让人难以置信，”他说，“唯一可能的解释就是，他一定疯了——他的秘书也是。他在英皇大道的玻璃座椅上主动同我结识，然后邀请我乘他的马车去刘易斯市。再后来，他主动要购买我一幅名贵的画作，最后莫名其妙地给了我这个愚蠢、荒谬、莫须有的指控。我要求以非法监禁罪给他下传票。”

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突然，我们渐渐明白，局面已经扭转了。我们渐渐意识到自己犯了个错误。伯尔派罗博士确实是他自己所声称的那个人，并且一直都是。我们也了解到，他的画上是真的玛丽亚·范雷内，是伦勃朗的真迹，他把它放在那位可疑的商贩那里，只是为了清洗和修复一下。J.H.汤姆林森爵士被一个狡猾的荷兰人骗了，他的画虽然也确实是伦勃朗的作品，但画的不是玛丽亚，只不过是一件保存不善、略次一些的样品。我们所咨询的专家是个无知、自负的江湖骗子。还有，其他专家对那幅玛丽亚画像的估价，最多不超过五六千基尼。查尔斯想撤销这次交易，但伯尔派罗博士当然一个字也不听，那份协议是具有法律约束力的武器。不过，当时查尔斯头脑中所想的，同那份书面合同没有半点关系。对方要查尔斯在《泰晤士报》上刊登一份道歉信，并付他五百英镑作为对他人格玷污的补偿，否则他就要控告我们非法监禁。我们精心设计的去抓那个骗子的计划，就这么收场了。

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不过，这件事到此还未结束；因为，当然啦，此后整个事件逐渐登了报。伯尔派罗博士是文学界、艺术界的熟人，结果他起诉了那位所谓的专家，是那位专家否认了自己伦勃朗画作的真实性，并且指控他愚昧无知，却还信口雌黄。之后报刊的短评就传开了。《环球报》登了一篇讽刺文章，来揭露我们的事；一向对查尔斯爵士还有其他南非人不依不饶的《真理报》登了一首辛辣的诗歌《金伯利的高雅艺术》。不出我们所料，这样一折腾，整个事件就传到了克雷上校的耳朵里；因为一两周以后，我内兄收到了一张幸灾乐祸的短笺，信笺还散发着清香，写信的是那位对我们穷追不舍的骗子。内容如下：

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哈，你这天真的孩子！

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愿上帝保佑你那天真的小脑瓜！你是不是觉得自己确确实实抓住了厉害的上校？你是不是准备了一个漂亮的圈套来抓住他？你的大名是不是叫“笨蛋爵士”？看到你那巧妙的小诡计，我和“白石南花”笑得不知有多开心！顺便说一句，让“白石南花”到你家中，花上半年时间，教教你如何做业余侦探，这会对你大有裨益。你那迷人的天真，让我俩好不嫉妒。像我这种头脑的人会屈尊用绘画大师这么平淡、老套、愚蠢、俗气的骗术？亏你能想得到！还是在所谓的十九世纪！哦，神圣的单纯！我什么时候能像婴儿一样被人一眼看穿？什么时候？告诉我什么时候？不过，不用担心，亲爱的朋友。虽然你没抓到我，但咱们不久还会再来次愉快的会面。

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致以最崇高的敬意和感激。

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安东尼奥·赫雷拉，

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或理查德·佩普洛·布拉巴宗

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查尔斯放下信，长叹一口气。“西，老弟，”他沉思着大声说道，“世上没有谁的财产——哪怕是我的——能经得起这么折腾。财产这样源源不断地流失，真的让我开始感到害怕。我看到了自己的结局：我最后会死在济贫院。想一想当他是克雷上校时从我身上掠走的钱，再想想当他不是克雷上校时我在他身上浪费的钱，这个人开始让我变得紧张兮兮的了。我要从这种担惊受怕的生活中全身而退。我要离开这个诡诈、败坏的世界，到清新、纯净的大山中某个清净的角落中去。”

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“既然你能说出这种话，看来是时候换个环境，得休息一下了，”我说，“咱们去蒂罗尔吧！”

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Like most South Africans, Sir Charles Vandrift is anything but sedentary. He hates sitting down.He must always“trek.”He cannot live without moving about freely.Six weeks in Mayfair at a time is as much as he can stand.Then he must run away incontinently for rest and change to Scotland, Homburg, Monte Carlo, Biarritz.“I won’t be a limpet on the rock，”he says.Thus it came to pass that in the early autumn we found ourselves stopping at the Métropole at Brighton.We were the accustomed nice little family party—Sir Charles and Amelia, myself and Isabel, with the suite as usual.

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On the frst Sunday morning after our arrival we strolled out, Charles and I—I regret to say during the hours allotted for Divine service—on to the King’s Road, to get a whiff of fresh air, and a glimpse of the waves that were churning the Channel. The two ladies（with their bonnets）had gone to church；but Sir Charles had risen late, fatigued from the week’s toil, while I myself was suffering from a matutinal headache, which I attributed to the close air in the billiard-room overnight, combined, perhaps, with the insidious effect of a brand of soda-water to which I was little accustomed；I had used it to dilute my evening whisky.We were to meet our wives afterwards at the church parade—an institution to which I believe both Amelia and Isabel attach even greater importance than to thesermon which precedes it.

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We sat down on a glass seat. Charles gazed inquiringly up and down the King’s Road, on the look-out for a boy with Sunday papers.At last one passed.“Observer，”my brother-in-law called out laconically.

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“Ain’t got none，”the boy answered, brandishing his bundle in our faces.“’Ave a Referee or a Pink’Un?”

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Charles, however, is not a Refereader, while as to the Pink’Un, he considers it unsuitable for public perusal on Sunday morning. It may be read indoors, but in the open air its blush betrays it.So he shook his head, and muttered，“If you pass an Observer, send him on here at once to me.”

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A polite stranger who sat close to us turned round with a pleasant smile.“Would you allow me to offer you one?”he said, drawing a copy from his pocket.“I fancy I bought the last. There’s a run on them to-day, you see.Important news this morning from the Transvaal.”

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Charles raised his eyebrows, and accepted it, as I thought, just a trifle grumpily. So, to remove the false impression his surliness might produce on so benevolent a mind, I entered into conversation with the polite stranger.He was a man of middle age, and medium height, with a cultivated air, and a pair of gold pince-nez；his eyes were sharp；his voice was refined；he dropped into talk before long about distinguished people just then in Brighton.It was clear at once that he was hand in glove with many of the very best kind.We compared notes as to Nice, Rome, Florence, Cairo.Our new acquaintance had scores of friends in common with us, it seemed；indeed, our circles so largely coincided, that I wondered we had never happened till then to knock up against one another.

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“And Sir Charles Vandrift, the great African millionaire，”he said at last，“do you know anything of him?I’m told he’s at present down here at the Métropole.”

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I waved my hand towards the person in question.

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“This is Sir Charles Vandrift，”I answered, with proprietary pride；“and I am his brother-in-law, Mr. Seymour Wentworth.”

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“Oh, indeed！”the stranger answered, with a curious air of drawing in his horns. I wondered whether he had just been going to pretend he knew Sir Charles, or whether perchance he was on the point of saying something highly uncomplimentary, and was glad to have escaped it.

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By this time, however, Charles laid down the paper and chimed into our conversation. I could see at once from his mollifed tone that the news from the Transvaal was favourable to his operations in Cloetedorp Golcondas.He was therefore in a friendly and affable temper.His whole manner changed at once.He grew polite in return to the polite stranger.Besides, we knew the man moved in the best society；he had acquaintances whom Amelia was most anxious to secure for her“At Homes”in Mayfair—young Faith, the novelist, and Sir Richard Montrose, the great Arctic traveller.As for the painters, it was clear that he was sworn friends with the whole lot of them.He dined with Academicians, and gave weekly breakfasts to the members of the Institute.Now, Amelia is particularly desirous that her salon should not be considered too exclusively fnancial and political in character：with a solid basis of M.P.’s and millionaires, she loves a delicate undercurrent of literature, art, and the musical glasses.Our new acquaintance was extremely communicative：“Knows his place in society, Sey，”Sir Charles said to me afterwards，“and is therefore not afraid of talking freely, as so many people are who have doubts about their position.”We exchanged cards before we rose.Our new friend’s name turned out to be Dr.Edward Polperro.

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“In practice here?”I inquired, though his garb belied it.

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“Oh, not medical，”he answered.“I am an LL. D.don’t you know.Iinterest myself in art, and buy to some extent for the National Gallery.”

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The very man for Amelia’s“At Homes”！Sir Charles snapped at him instantly.“I’ve brought my four-in-hand down here with me，”he said, in his best friendly manner，“and we think of tooling over to-morrow to Lewes. If you’d care to take a seat I’m sure Lady Vandrift would be charmed to see you.”

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“You’re very kind，”the Doctor said，“on so casual an introduction. I’m sure I shall be delighted.”

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“We start from the Métropole at ten-thirty，”Charles went on.

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“I shall be there. Good morning！”And, with a satisfed smile, he rose and left us, nodding.

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We returned to the lawn, to Amelia and Isabel. Our new friend passed us once or twice.Charles stopped him and introduced him.He was walking with two ladies, most elegantly dressed in rather peculiar artistic dresses.Amelia was taken at frst sight by his manner.“One could see at a glance，”she said，“he was a person of culture and of real distinction.I wonder whether he could bring the P.R.A.to my Parliamentary‘At Home’on Wednesday fortnight?”

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Next day, at ten-thirty, we started on our drive. Our team has been considered the best in Sussex.Charles is an excellent, though somewhat anxious—or, might I say better, somewhat careful?—whip.He finds the management of two leaders and two wheelers fills his hands for the moment, both literally and figuratively, leaving very little time for general conversation.Lady Belleisle of Beacon bloomed beside him on the box（her bloom is perennial, and applied by her maid）；Dr.Polperro occupied the seat just behind with myself and Amelia.The Doctor talked most of the time to Lady Vandrift：his discourse was of picture-galleries, which Amelia detests, but in which she thinks it incumbent upon her, asSir Charles’s wife, to affect now and then a cultivated interest.Noblesse oblige；and the walls of Castle Seldon, our place in Ross-shire, are almost covered now with Leaders and with Orchardsons.This result was first arrived at by a singular accident.Sir Charles wanted a leader—for his coach, you understand—and told an artistic friend so.The artistic friend brought him a Leader next week with a capital L；and Sir Charles was so taken aback that he felt ashamed to confess the error.So he was turned unawares into a patron of painting.

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Dr. Polperro, in spite of his too pronouncedly artistic talk, proved on closer view a most agreeable companion.He diversifed his art cleverly with anecdotes and scandals；he told us exactly which famous painters had married their cooks, and which had only married their models；and otherwise showed himself a most diverting talker.Among other things, however, he happened to mention once that he had recently discovered a genuine Rembrandt—a quite undoubted Rembrandt, which had remained for years in the keeping of a certain obscure Dutch family.It had always been allowed to be a masterpiece of the painter, but it had seldom been seen for the last half-century save by a few intimate acquaintances.It was a portrait of one Maria Vanrenen of Haarlem, and he had bought it of her descendants at Gouda, in Holland.

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I saw Charles prick up his ears, though he took no open notice. This Maria Vanrenen, as it happened, was a remote collateral ancestress of the Vandrifts, before they emigrated to the Cape in 1780；and the existence of the portrait, though not its whereabouts, was well known in the family.Isabel had often mentioned it.If it was to be had at anything like a reasonable price, it would be a splendid thing for the boys（Sir Charles, I ought to say, has two sons at Eton）to possess an undoubted portrait of an ancestress by Rembrandt.

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Dr. Polperro talked a good deal after that about this valuable fnd.He had tried to sell it at frst to the National Gallery；but though the Directors admired the work immensely, and admitted its genuineness, they regretted that the funds at their disposal this year did not permit them to acquire so important a canvas at a proper figure.South Kensington again was too poor；but the Doctor was in treaty at present with the Louvre and with Berlin.Still, it was a pity a fne work of art like that, once brought into the country, should be allowed to go out of it.Some patriotic patron of the fne arts ought to buy it for his own house, or else munifcently present it to the nation.

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All the time Charles said nothing. But I could feel him cogitating.He even looked behind him once, near a diffcult corner（while the guard was actually engaged in tootling his horn to let passers-by know that the coach was coming），and gave Amelia a warning glance to say nothing committing, which had at once the requisite effect of sealing her mouth for the moment.It is a very unusual thing for Charles to look back while driving.I gathered from his doing so that he was inordinately anxious to possess this Rembrandt.

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When we arrived at Lewes we put up our horses at the inn, and Charles ordered a lunch on his wonted scale of princely magnificence. Meanwhile we wandered, two and two, about the town and castle.I annexed Lady Belleisle, who is at least amusing.Charles drew me aside before starting.“Look here, Sey，”he said，“we must be very careful.This man, Polperro, is a chance acquaintance.There’s nothing an astute rogue can take one in over more easily than an Old Master.If the Rembrandt is genuine I ought to have it；if it really represents Maria Vanrenen, it’s a duty I owe to the boys to buy it.But I’ve been done twice lately, and I won’t be done a third time.We must go to work cautiously.”

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“You are right，”I answered.“No more seers and curates！”

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“If this man’s an impostor，”Charles went on—“and in spite of what he says about the National Gallery and so forth, we know nothing of him—the story he tells is just the sort of one such a fellow would trump up in a moment to deceive me. He could easily learn who I was—I’m a well-known figure；he knew I was in Brighton, and he may have been sitting on that glass seat on Sunday on purpose to entrap me.”

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“He introduced your name，”I said，“and the moment he found out who I was he plunged into talk with me.”

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“Yes，”Charles continued.“He may have learned about the portrait of Maria Vanrenen, which my grandmother always said was preserved at Gouda；and, indeed, I myself have often mentioned it, as you doubtless remember. If so, what more natural, say, for a rogue than to begin talking about the portrait in that innocent way to Amelia?If he wants a Rembrandt, I believe they can be turned out to order to any amount in Birmingham.The moral of all which is, it behoves us to be careful.”

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“Right you are，”I answered；“and I am keeping my eye upon him.”

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We drove back by another road, overshadowed by beech-trees in autumnal gold. It was a delightful excursion.Dr.Polperro’s heart was elated by lunch and the excellent dry Monopole.He talked amazingly.I never heard a man with a greater or more varied fow of anecdote.He had been everywhere and knew all about everybody.Amelia booked him at once for her“At Home”on Wednesday week, and he promised to introduce her to several artistic and literary celebrities.

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That evening, however, about half-past seven, Charles and I strolled out together on the King’s Road for a blow before dinner. We dine at eight.The air was delicious.We passed a small new hotel, very smart and exclusive, with a big bow window.There, in evening dress, lightsburning and blind up, sat our friend, Dr.Polperro, with a lady facing him, young, graceful, and pretty.A bottle of champagne stood open before him.He was helping himself plentifully to hot-house grapes, and full of good humour.It was clear he and the lady were occupied in the intense enjoyment of some capital joke；for they looked queerly at one another, and burst now and again into merry peals of laughter.

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I drew back. So did Sir Charles.One idea passed at once through both our minds.I murmured，“Colonel Clay！”He answered，“And Madame Picardet！”

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They were not in the least like the Reverend Richard and Mrs. Brabazon.But that clinched the matter.Nor did I see a sign of the aquiline nose of the Mexican Seer.Still, I had learnt by then to discount appearances.If these were indeed the famous sharper and his wife or accomplice, we must be very careful.We were forewarned this time.Supposing he had the audacity to try a third trick of the sort upon us we had him under our thumbs.Only, we must take steps to prevent his dexterously slipping through our fngers.

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“He can wriggle like an eel，”said the Commissary at Nice. We both recalled those words, and laid our plans deep to prevent the man’s wriggling away from us on this third occasion.

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“I tell you what it is, Sey，”my brother-in-law said, with impressive slowness.“This time we must deliberately lay ourselves out to be swindled. We must propose of our own accord to buy the picture, making him guarantee it in writing as a genuine Rembrandt, and taking care to tie him down by most stringent conditions.But we must seem at the same time to be unsuspicious and innocent as babes；we must swallow whole whatever lies he tells us；pay his price—nominally—by cheque for the portrait；and then, arrest him the moment the bargain is complete, withthe proofs of his guilt then and there upon him.Of course, what he’ll try to do will be to vanish into thin air at once, as he did at Nice and Paris；but, this time, we’ll have the police in waiting and everything ready.We’ll avoid precipitancy, but we’ll avoid delay too.We must hold our hands off till he’s actually accepted and pocketed the money；and then, we must nab him instantly, and walk him off to the local Bow Street.That’s my plan of campaign.Meanwhile, we should appear all trustful innocence and confding guilelessness.”

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In pursuance of this well-laid scheme, we called next day on Dr. Polperro at his hotel, and were introduced to his wife, a dainty little woman, in whom we affected not to recognise that arch Madame Picardet or that simple White Heather.The Doctor talked charmingly（as usual）about art—what a well-informed rascal he was, to be sure！—and Sir Charles expressed some interest in the supposed Rembrandt.Our new friend was delighted；we could see by his well-suppressed eagerness of tone that he knew us at once for probable purchasers.He would run up to town next day, he said, and bring down the portrait.And in effect, when Charles and I took our wonted places in the Pullman next morning, on our way up to the half-yearly meeting of Cloetedorp Golcondas, there was our Doctor, leaning back in his arm-chair as if the car belonged to him.Charles gave me an expressive look.“Does it in style，”he whispered，“doesn’t he?Takes it out of my fve thousand；or discounts the amount he means to chouse me of with his spurious Rembrandt.”

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Arrived in town, we went to work at once. We set a private detective from Marvillier’s to watch our friend；and from him we learned that the so-called Doctor dropped in for a picture that day at a dealer’s in the West-end（I suppress the name, having a judicious fear of the law of libel ever before my eyes），a dealer who was known to be mixed up beforethen in several shady or disreputable transactions.Though, to be sure, my experience has been that picture dealers are—picture dealers.Horses rank frst in my mind as begetters and producers of unscrupulous agents, but pictures run them a very good second.Anyhow, we found out that our distinguished art-critic picked up his Rembrandt at this dealer’s shop, and came down with it in his care the same night to Brighton.

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In order not to act precipitately, and so ruin our plans, we induced Dr. Polperro（what a cleverly chosen name！）to bring the Rembrandt round to the Métropole for our inspection, and to leave it with us while we got the opinion of an expert from London.

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The expert came down, and gave us a full report upon the alleged Old Master. In his judgment, it was not a Rembrandt at all, but a cunningly-painted and well-begrimed modern Dutch imitation.Moreover, he showed us by documentary evidence that the real portrait of Maria Vanrenen had, as a matter of fact, been brought to England fve years before, and sold to Sir J.H.Tomlinson, the well-known connoisseur, for eight thousand pounds.Dr.Polperro’s picture was, therefore, at best either a replica by Rembrandt；or else, more probably, a copy by a pupil；or, most likely of all, a mere modern forgery.

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We were thus well prepared to fasten our charge of criminal conspiracy upon the self-styled Doctor. But in order to make assurance still more certain, we threw out vague hints to him that the portrait of Maria Vanrenen might really be elsewhere, and even suggested in his hearing that it might not improbably have got into the hands of that omnivorous collector, Sir J.H.Tomlinson.But the vendor was proof against all such attempts to decry his goods.He had the effrontery to brush away the documentary evidence, and to declare that Sir J.H.Tomlinson（one of the most learned and astute picture-buyers in England）had been smartly imposed upon by a needy Dutch artist with a talent for forgery.The real Maria Vanrenen, he declared and swore, was the one he offered us.“Success has turned the man’s head，”Charles said to me, well pleased.“He thinks we will swallow any obvious lie he chooses to palm off upon us.But the bucket has come once too often to the well.This time we checkmate him.”It was a mixed metaphor, I admit；but Sir Charles’s tropes are not always entirely superior to criticism.

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So we pretended to believe our man, and accepted his assurances. Next came the question of price.This was warmly debated, for form’s sake only.Sir J.H.Tomlinson had paid eight thousand for his genuine Maria.The Doctor demanded ten thousand for his spurious one.There was really no reason why we should higgle and dispute, for Charles meant merely to give his cheque for the sum and then arrest the fellow；but, still, we thought it best for the avoidance of suspicion to make a show of resistance；and we at last beat him down to nine thousand guineas.For this amount he was to give us a written warranty that the work he sold us was a genuine Rembrandt, that it represented Maria Vanrenen of Haarlem, and that he had bought it direct, without doubt or question, from that good lady’s descendants at Gouda, in Holland.

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It was capitally done. We arranged the thing to perfection.We had a constable in waiting in our rooms at the Métropole, and we settled that Dr.Polperro was to call at the hotel at a certain fxed hour to sign the warranty and receive his money.A regular agreement on sound stamped paper was drawn out between us.At the appointed time the“party of the frst part”came, having already given us over possession of the portrait.Charles drew a cheque for the amount agreed upon, and signed it.Then he handed it to the Doctor.Polperro just clutched at it.Meanwhile, I took up my post by the door, while two men in plain clothes, detectives from the police-station, stood as men-servants and watched the windows.We feared lest the impostor, once he had got the cheque, should dodge us somehow, as he had already done at Nice and in Paris.The moment he had pocketed his money with a smile of triumph, I advanced to him rapidly.I had in my possession a pair of handcuffs.Before he knew what was happening, I had slipped them on his wrists and secured them dexterously, while the constable stepped forward.“We have got you this time！”I cried.“We know who you are, Dr.Polperro.You are—Colonel Clay, alias Se?or Antonio Herrera, alias the Reverend Richard Peploe Brabazon.”

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I never saw any man so astonished in my life！He was utterly fabbergasted. Charles thought he must have expected to get clear away at once, and that this prompt action on our part had taken the fellow so much by surprise as to simply unman him.He gazed about him as if he hardly realised what was happening.

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“Are these two raving maniacs?”he asked at last，“or what do they mean by this nonsensical gibberish about Antonio Herrera?”

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The constable laid his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder.

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“It’s all right, my man，”he said.“We’ve got warrants out against you. I arrest you, Edward Polperro, alias the Reverend Richard Peploe Brabazon, on a charge of obtaining money under false pretences from Sir Charles Vandrift, K.C.M.G.，M.P.，on his sworn information, now here subscribed to.”For Charles had had the thing drawn out in readiness beforehand.

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Our prisoner drew himself up.“Look here, officer，”he said, in an offended tone，“there’s some mistake here in this matter. I have never given an alias at any time in my life.How do you know this is really Sir Charles Vandrift?It may be a case of bullying personation.My belief is, though, they’re a pair of escaped lunatics.”

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“We’ll see about that to-morrow，”the constable said, collaring him.“At present you’ve got to go off with me quietly to the station, where these gentlemen will enter up the charge against you.”

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They carried him off, protesting. Charles and I signed the charge-sheet；and the officer locked him up to await his examination next day before the magistrate.

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We were half afraid even now the fellow would manage somehow to get out on bail and give us the slip in spite of everything；and, indeed, he protested in the most violent manner against the treatment to which we were subjecting“a gentleman in his position.”But Charles took care to tell the police it was all right；that he was a dangerous and peculiarly slippery criminal, and that on no account must they let him go on any pretext whatever, till he had been properly examined before the magistrates.

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We learned at the hotel that night, curiously enough, that there really was a Dr. Polperro, a distinguished art critic, whose name, we didn’t doubt, our impostor had been assuming.

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Next morning, when we reached the court, an inspector met us with a very long face.“Look here, gentlemen，”he said，“I’m afraid you’ve committed a very serious blunder. You’ve made a precious bad mess of it.You’ve got yourselves into a scrape；and, what’s worse, you’ve got us into one also.You were a deal too smart with your sworn information.We’ve made inquiries about this gentleman, and we fnd the account he gives of himself is perfectly correct.His name is Polperro；he’s a well-known art critic and collector of pictures, employed abroad by the National Gallery.He was formerly an offcial in the South Kensington Museum, and he’s a C.B.and LL.D.，very highly respected.You’ve made a sad mistake, that’s where it is；and you’ll probably have to answer a charge of false imprisonment, in which I’m afraid you have also involved our own department.”

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Charles gasped with horror.“You haven’t let him out，”he cried，“on those absurd representations?You haven’t let him slip through your hands as you did that murderer fellow?”

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“Let him slip through our hands?”the inspector cried.“I only wish he would. There’s no chance of that, unfortunately.He’s in the court there, this moment, breathing out fre and slaughter against you both；and we’re here to protect you if he should happen to fall upon you.He’s been locked up all night on your mistaken affdavits, and, naturally enough, he’s mad with anger.”

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“If you haven’t let him go, I’m satisfed，”Charles answered.“He’s a fox for cunning. Where is he?Let me see him.”

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We went into the court. There we saw our prisoner conversing amicably, in the most excited way, with the magistrate（who, it seems, was a personal friend of his）；and Charles at once went up and spoke to them.Dr.Polperro turned round and glared at him through his pince-nez.

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“The only possible explanation of this person’s extraordinary and incredible conduct，”he said，“is, that he must be mad—and his secretary equally so. He made my acquaintance, unasked, on a glass seat on the King’s Road；invited me to go on his coach to Lewes；volunteered to buy a valuable picture of me；and then, at the last moment, unaccountably gave me in charge on this silly and preposterous trumped-up accusation.I demand a summons for false imprisonment.”

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Suddenly it began to dawn upon us that the tables were turned. By degrees it came out that we had made a mistake.Dr.Polperro was really the person he represented himself to be, and had been always.His picture, we found out, was the real Maria Vanrenen, and a genuine Rembrandt, which he had merely deposited for cleaning and restoring at the suspicious dealer’s.Sir J.H.Tomlinson had been imposed upon and cheated by acunning Dutchman；his picture, though also an undoubted Rembrandt, was not the Maria, and was an inferior specimen in bad preservation.The authority we had consulted turned out to be an ignorant, self-sufficient quack.The Maria, moreover, was valued by other experts at no more than fve or six thousand guineas.Charles wanted to cry off his bargain, but Dr.Polperro naturally wouldn’t hear of it.The agreement was a legally binding instrument, and what passed in Charles’s mind at the moment had nothing to do with the written contract.Our adversary only consented to forego the action for false imprisonment on condition that Charles inserted a printed apology in the Times, and paid him fve hundred pounds compensation for damage to character.So that was the end of our well-planned attempt to arrest the swindler.

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Not quite the end, however；for, of course, after this, the whole affair got by degrees into the papers. Dr.Polperro, who was a familiar person in literary and artistic society, as it turned out, brought an action against the so-called expert who had declared against the genuineness of his alleged Rembrandt, and convicted him of the grossest ignorance and misstatement.Then paragraphs got about.The World showed us up in a sarcastic article；and Truth, which has always been terribly severe upon Sir Charles and all the other South Africans, had a pungent set of verses on“High Art in Kimberley.”By this means, as we suppose, the affair became known to Colonel Clay himself；for a week or two later my brother-in-law received a cheerful little note on scented paper from our persistent sharper.It was couched in these terms：—

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“Oh, you innocent infant！

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“Bless your ingenuous little heart！And did it believe, then, it had positively caught the redoubtable colonel?And had it ready a nice little

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pinch of salt to put upon his tail?And is it true its respected name is Sir Simple Simon?How heartily we have laughed, White Heather and I, at your neat little ruses！It would pay you, by the way, to take White Heather into your house for six months to instruct you in the agreeable sport of amateur detectives.Your charming naivete quite moves our envy.So you actually imagined a man of my brains would condescend to anything so flat and stale as the silly and threadbare Old Master deception！And this in the so-called nineteenth century！O sancta simplicitas！When again shall such infantile transparency be mine?When, ah, when?But never mind, dear friend.Though you didn’t catch me, we shall meet before long at some delightful Philippi.

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“Yours, with the profoundest respect and gratitude，

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“ANTONIO HERRERA，

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“Otherwise RICHARD PEPLOE BRABAZON.”

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Charles laid down the letter with a deep-drawn sigh.“Sey, my boy，”he mused aloud，“no fortune on earth—not even mine—can go on standing it. These perpetual drains begin really to terrify me.I foresee the end.I shall die in a workhouse.What with the money he robs me of when he is Colonel Clay, and the money I waste upon him when he isn’t Colonel Clay, the man is beginning to tell upon my nervous system.I shall withdraw altogether from this worrying life.I shall retire from a scheming and polluted world to some untainted spot in the fresh, pure mountains.”

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“You must need rest and change，”I said，“when you talk like that. Let us try the Tyrol.”

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

laconically

[lə’kɒnɪkli]

adv.简洁地

Referee

[ˌrefə’riː]

n.裁判员;仲裁人;鉴定人;证明人

blush

[blʌʃ]

n.脸红;羞愧

acquaintance

[ə’kweɪntəns]

n.熟人;相识;了解

millionaire

[ˌmɪljə’neə(r)]

n.百万富翁

uncomplimentary

[ʌnˌkɒmplɪ’mentri]

adj.贬降的;贬损的

communicative

[kə’mjuːnɪkətɪv]

adj.爱说话的;健谈的;交流的

garb

[ɡɑːb]

n.打扮;装束;外表

Parliamentary

[ˌpɑːlə’mentri]

adj.议会的;国会的;议会制定的

felted

[’feltɪd]

v. 把 ... 制成毡(使 ... 粘结)

Holland

[’hɔlənd]

n.荷兰

patriotic

[ˌpeɪtri’ɒtɪk]

adj.爱国的

mare

[meə(r)]

n.母马;母驴;(月球等)表面阴暗处

seer

[sɪə(r)]

n.预言者;先知;占卜者;观看者

entrap

[ɪn’træp]

v.诱捕;使陷入圈套

Birmingham

[’bɜ:mɪŋˌhæm]

n.伯明翰(城市名)

Amelia

[eɪˈmiːlɪə]

n.阿米莉亚(女子名)

peal

[piːl]

n.钟声

Madame

[’mædəm]

n.夫人

dexterous

[’dekstrəs]

adj.灵巧的;机灵的;惯用右手的

Commissary

[’kɒmɪsəri]

n.军粮供应

innocence

[’ɪnəsns]

n.无罪;清白;无知;天真无邪

Brighton

[ˈbraɪtn]

布赖顿码头(英国南部海岸避暑胜地), 布赖顿的游乐场所

forgery

[’fɔːdʒəri]

n.伪造;伪造罪;伪造物

checkmate

[ˌtʃek’meɪt]

v.(国际象棋中)把…将死;完全击败

Richard

[’ritʃəd]

n.理查德(男子名)

unman

[’ʌn’mæn]

vt.使失去男子气概;使怯懦;阉割

gibberish

[’dʒɪbərɪʃ]

n.莫名其妙的话;胡言乱语

constable

[’kʌnstəbl]

n.警官;治安官;巡官;(皇家或贵族的) 总管

beforehand

[bɪ’fɔːhænd]

adv.预先;事先;提前

lunatic

[’luːnətɪk]

n.疯子

magistrate

[’mædʒɪstreɪt]

n.地方法官;行政官

impostor

[ɪm’pɒstə(r)]

n.冒充者;骗子

murderer

[’mɜːdərə(r)]

n.杀人犯;凶手

slaughter

[’slɔːtə(r)]

n.残杀;屠杀;大量杀戮

cunning

[’kʌnɪŋ]

adj.狡猾的;有眼光的;精巧的;可爱的

pince-nez

[ˌpæ̃s’neɪ]

n.夹鼻眼镜

trumped-up

[’trʌmpt’ʌp]

adj.捏造的;伪造的

swindler

[’swɪndlə(r)]

n.骗子

sharper

[’ʃɑːpə]

n.磨削,骗子;adj.较锐利的

colonel

[’kɜːnl]

n.上校

infantile

[’ɪnfəntaɪl]

adj.婴儿的;幼稚的;孩子气的

RICHARD

[’ritʃəd]

n.理查德(男子名)

untainted

[ʌn’teɪntɪd]

adj.无污点的;未污染的

Tyrol

[tɪˈrəʊl]

n.提洛尔

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