Page 74 of Thief of the Ton
“Incompetent fool!” Hythe said.
“What’s he done?” Peregrine asked.
“Nothing—more’s the pity. It’s what he’sfailedto do.”
“Forgive me, Hythe—but what has this to do with me?”
“It’s your thief—what’s his name—the Phoenix? The bastard’s struck again!”
Peregrine stiffened. “What—here?”
“Last night.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because a painting’s been stolen!” Hythe spluttered, his face reddening with rage.
“And you know it was taken last night?”
“I saw it when I retired,” Hythe said. “I always walk through the gallery with the dogs. But that cursed fool Bradley”—he gestured toward the door—“burst into my dressing room this morning to say it had been stolen.”
Hythe rose to his feet. “Come and see.”
Not waiting for a response, he exited the study and led the way to the picture gallery that Lady Hythe had been so eager to show the party yesterday.
“There—look!”
Halfway along the hallway was an empty frame.
Peregrine approached the frame and inspected it. A modern piece, though the distress marks suggested otherwise, as if the maker had deliberately scuffed the wood to give it an appearance of antiquity.
Then he saw it—a small, folded piece of paper, tucked inside the bottom corner of the frame. He picked it up, unfolded it, and let out a low hiss as he recognized the drawing.
“It’s the Phoenix, isn’t it?” Lord Hythe said.
Peregrine nodded. “Can you recall the painting?”
“Of course I bloody can!” Hythe looked like he was going to burst with rage. “It’s priceless—a family heirloom! A gift from the king.”
“The present king?”
“No. It was gifted to the fifth Lady Hythe—painted by none other than Sir Peter Lely.”
“Ah—then it must be Charles II,” Peregrine said. “Lely was the royal painter.” He shook his head. “No—that can’t be right—the painting would be over a hundred years old, but this frame looks new.”
He caught the scent of fresh wood shavings. Definitely a modern frame—he wouldn’t be surprised if it had been made within the past month. And had the canvas been taken out of its frame, there’d be signs of tampering. Which only meant one thing.
Peregrine glanced at his host. “This isn’t the original.”
“Don’t be a fool!” Hythe scoffed. “The painting’s been in my family for generations.”
“The frame’s a replica,” Peregrine replied. “Granted, a good one—made to look older than it is—but it’s been fashioned in isolation. Frames are usually built around a canvas, and there would be evidence of damage had the canvas been removed.”
“What are you trying to say, Marlow?” Hythe asked.
“That, in all likelihood, the thief has stolen the entire piece intact—canvas and frame together.”
“Then why go to the trouble of hanging an empty frame in its place?”
