I had been standing by the door, but now I came forward and joined
Indiman. "Gone!" he said, briefly. "Gone, and taken his secret with
him. Only, what WAS the secret?"

We tried to argue it out on the way up-town, but with only
indifferent success. Granted the premise that Richmond had actually
stolen the "Red Duchess," what were his motives in multiplying
copies of the picture, a proceeding that must infallibly end in the
detection of his crime? And the supreme question--what had finally
become of the original?

My theory was simple enough. The man was mentally unbalanced, the
result of brooding over his own failure in art. He had stolen the
picture, possessed with the idea that by study of it he should
discover the secret of its power. He had made copies of the picture
and sold them in order to supply himself with the necessities of
life. At the end, knowing himself to be dying, he had caused the
original to be returned to the gallery at Petersburg, a
contribution to the conscience fund.

Indiman's argument was more subtle. "Granted," he said, "that the
poor chap was mentally irresponsible, and that he actually did
steal the picture. But you must take into account his colossal
vanity, his monumental egotism. Richmond never admitted for a
moment that he was a failure as an artist; there was a cabal
against him, and that accounted for everything. This affair was
simply his revenge upon his critics and detractors; he would turn
out these reproductions of a masterpiece so perfect in their
technique as not to be distinguished from their original, nor
indeed from each other. So having set the artistic world by the