magnificent costume of red velvet.

"Lely's 'Red Duchess,'" remarks my host, carelessly. "You may have
seen it in the Hermitage at Petersburg."

I looked at the picture again. Why should this masterpiece not have
been properly mounted and glazed? The edges of the canvas were
jagged and uneven, as though it had been cut from its frame with a
not oversharp knife. We sat down to our coffee and liqueurs.

As I awake in the narrow quarters of my hall bedroom I am inclined
to believe that the occurrences of the preceding night were only
the phantasms of a disordered digestion; where had I eaten that
Welsh rabbit? The morning paper had been thrown over the transom,
and, following my usual custom, I reached for it and began reading.
Among the foreign despatches I note this paragraph dated St.
Petersburg:

"The famous portrait of the Duchess of Lackshire, by Sir Peter
Lely, better known as the 'Red Duchess,' has disappeared from the
gallery of the Hermitage. It is now admitted that it must have been
stolen, cut bodily from its frame and carried away. The theft took
place several months ago, but the secret has just become public
property. The absence of the picture from its accustomed place had,
of course, been noted, but it was understood that it had been
removed for cleaning. An enormous reward is to be offered for
information leading to its recovery."

There is also a letter for me which I had not noticed until now. It
was from Indiman, and it read: