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"May I enquire, madam," said I stiffly, "how you came to select my abode as your hiding place?" "Oh, I have forgotten to tell you that we lived here one whole summer just after we were married. Count Hohendahl let us have the castle for our our honey-moon. He was here a great deal of the time. All sorts of horrid, nasty, snobbish people were here to help us enjoy our honeymoon.
I was here with Maris at the time of the transaction and when the paintings were removed. Maris acted as an intermediary in the deal. Hohendahl received two hundred thousand dollars for the paintings, but they were worth it. I have reason to believe that Maris had a fourth of the amount for his commission. So, you see, you were right in your surmise." "The infernal rascal!
When I came to that part of the story where I accused Tarnowsy of duplicity in connection with the frescoes, she betrayed intense excitement. "Of course it was all a bluff on my part," I explained. "But you were nearer the truth than you thought," she said, compressing her lips. After a moment she went on: "Count Hohendahl sold the originals over three years ago.
I intercepted the swift look of apprehension that passed from him to the stolid Schwartzmuller, whose face turned a shade redder. "Impossible!" cried Tarnowsy sharply. "By no means impossible," I said calmly, now sure of my ground. "To be perfectly frank with you, I've known from the beginning that they are fakes. Your friend, Count Hohendahl, is nobler than you give him credit for being.
I found myself wondering if the brute had dared to strike her on that soft, pink cheek! Suddenly a horrible thought struck me with stunning force. "Don't tell me that your your husband is the man who owned this castle up to a week ago," I cried. "Count James Hohendahl?" She shook her head. "No. He is not the man."
I swallowed hard, but managed to control my voice, "As a matter of fact, Count Tarnowsy," I said, resorting to unworthy means, "I have every reason to believe that Hohendahl sold the originals sometime ago, and had them replaced on the ceilings by clever imitations. They are not worth the canvas they are painted on." He started.
Smart, if it's just the same to you." He spoke with a very slight accent and in a peculiarly attractive manner. There was charm to the man, I was bound to admit. "I know Schloss Rothhoefen very well. It is an old stamping ground of mine." "Indeed," said I, affecting surprise. "I spent a very joyous season here not so many years ago. Hohendahl is a bosom friend."
"Conrad," said I, as we emerged from the last of the underground chambers, "tell me the truth: was there ever such a thing as buried treasure in this abominable hole?" "Yes, mein herr," he replied, with an apologetic grin; "but I think it was discovered three years ago by Count Hohendahl and Count Tarnowsy." We stared at him. "The deuce you say!" cried I, with a quick glance at the Countess.
"They are worth ten times that amount, sir," said the expert gravely. I smiled skeptically. The Count took instant alarm. He realised that I was not such a fool as I looked, perhaps. "Hohendahl was once offered two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Mr. Smart," he said. "Why didn't he accept it?" I asked bluntly. "He sold the whole place to me, contents included, for less than half that amount."
I don't mind confessing to you that the man I speak of is your friend, the gentle Count Hohendahl, some time ogre of this castle." I shuddered. A feeling of utter loathing for all these unprincipled scoundrels came over me, and I mildly took the name of the Lord in vain.
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