After a day's break
of their journey at Vienna the travellers had again foregathered at the
trainside and paid one another the compliment of settling instinctively
into the same carriage. The elder of the two had the appearance and
manner of a diplomat; in point of fact he was the well-connected foster-
brother of a wine business. The other was certainly a journalist.
Neither man was talkative and each was grateful to the other for not
being talkative. That is why from time to time they talked.
One topic of conversation naturally thrust itself forward in front of all
others. In Vienna the previous day they had learned of the mysterious
vanishing of a world-famous picture from the walls of the Louvre.
"A dramatic disappearance of that sort is sure to produce a crop of
imitations," said the Journalist.
"It has had a lot of anticipations, for the matter of that," said the
Wine-brother.
"Oh, of course there have been thefts from the Louvre before."
"I was thinking of the spiriting away of human beings rather than
pictures. In particular I was thinking of the case of my aunt, Crispina
Umberleigh."
"I remember hearing something of the affair," said the Journalist, "but I
was away from England at the time.
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