Beck Center English Dept. University Libraries Emory University
Emory Women Writers Resource Project Collections:
Women's Genre Fiction Project

The Adventures of Tyler Tatlock, an electronic edition

by Dick Donovan [Muddock, J.E. (Joyce Emmerson), 1843-1934]

date: 1900
source publisher: Chatto & Windus
collection: Genre Fiction

Table of Contents

<< story colophon >>

Display page layout

| | 232

THE STOLEN PICTURE

MADAME IRENE was a Spanish lady naturalised in England, where she had spent the greater part of her life. She was a widow of an uncertain age, but with a very certain income, which enabled her to live in excellent style and indulge an extravagant hobby for collecting works of art and miscellaneous knicknacks which are generally classified as bric-a-brac. Her beautifully-situated house on Richmond Hill was a storehouse of valuable art treasures, and there she entertained in a princely way, and proudly displayed her collections to anyone who took an interest in such things.

To Tatlock she went one day full of moaning and wailing. It was a distressful story she had to tell, and her artistic soul was stirred to its depths. She had just returned from a treasure-hunting expedition in Italy. She had been to quaint Bologna, the mouldering old city of a dead glory. While there she heard of one, Jacob Weinberg by name, a Jew curio-dealer, who was said to possess a wonderful Rubens. She was told of a Madonna which was reputed to be matchless. Of course she sought out Weinberg and saw the Madonna. 'A lovely head! Oh, so beautiful, so wonderful, so poetically sad, so full of divine sorrow!' Thus she rapturously described this 'unique work of art.' She bargained with Weinberg. He had elevated bargaining to a science. He demanded a sum that nearly drove her into hysterics. He expatiated with glowing warmth on the merits of the head. He declared it should never—no, never—leave his possession unless the price he asked was paid. She offered him one-third, and he wept with | | 233 a wordless sorrow. When he recovered he called her attention with enthusiastic ardour to the beauty of the colouring, to the pathetic tenderness of the eyes, to the wistful, pleading, yearning expression of the saintly face. She increased her price by a hundred or two. He wept again, and vowed he would rather die than part with it unless the small value he had put upon it was paid. To sell it for less would be a sin and outrage against art. Madame wanted the treasure, but she was not without commercial instinct, and she refused to budge an inch. The Jew wailed and wept. He grew heated, he protested, he appealed. 'Art was art,' he said, and not butcher's meat.' Day after day for a whole week did the Jew and the lady struggle for mastery, and in the end the lady won, but it was at the cost of the Jew's heart, for that gentleman declared by all his fathers and prophets that that important organ of his anatomy was burst asunder. Nevertheless he was enabled to give her a receipt for her very substantial cheque, and to receive her instructions for its despatch to London. And he insisted upon her seeing with her own eyes the packing of the precious treasure. She failed not to do this. Had it been a newborn babe, or a bottle of a rare vintage port, it could not have been handled with greater tenderness. Madame saw it securely packed up in its case, the lid of which was screwed, and the address label fixed. Then, full of emotional joy, the lady took her departure and journeyed to Rome.

Two months later she arrived at her Richmond residence. Her anxious inquiries elicited the fact that a wooden case had arrived from abroad. Her heart palpitated with joy. She depicted the delight and envy of the world of art when she invited its chief representatives to view her wonderful find. It was a proud moment for her when her careful carpenter commenced to loosen the screws of the box. With what a loving regard for the precious contents of the box were the screws withdrawn ! How cautiously was the lid removed and the top wrapping taken out! Then a cry of horror burst from the lips of Madame Irene, for, instead of her Madonna coming to view, all that could be discovered | | 234 was a quantity of fine shavings and bits of paper. The Madonna was not there; she had been spirited away.

The shock to Madame's nerves was great. The loss from the mere monetary point of view was a very serious one, while from the art standpoint it was irreparable unless the picture could be regained.

The next post that went out carried with it a letter from the lady to the Jew. And a few posts later came a letter from the Jew to the lady. He had despatched the picture within a few hours of her seeing it packed. He was 'tremendously' distressed. The treasure had been stolen en route; probably by the rascally Italians, or still more rascally French, while the package was in transit. He was sure it could not have been abstracted on the English lines, for the English railway people and carriers were so honest. He instituted inquiries, and so did Madame, but to all and sundry it seemed a profound mystery. The Italian authorities indignantly repudiated the insinuation that the theft was committed while they had charge of the box. But the French ! Yes. Was it not well known that the French railway employees were as villainous as they could be?

The French, on their part, were very blunt in their condemnation of the Italian system of conveying goods. No proper check, they alleged, was kept, and the Italians were so wanting in principles and morality that anything was possible amongst them. The English railway company were emphatic in declaring that it was next to impossible that the picture could have been stolen on their system.

Weeks were thus consumed in useless correspondence and inquiry, until in despair Madame invoked the aid of the great English detective. She had paid a very large sum for the painting, and she wanted her money back or the picture. The recovery of the picture was probable ; the recovery of the money next to impossible. The Jew had delivered the property to the Bologna Railway people for transmission to England. He had paid all charges on it for transit, as he had agreed to do, and there his responsibility ended. His distress almost drove him mad, and his very elastic heart was | | 235 once more broken as he thought of the unmitigated wickedness of anyone who would steal a Madonna.

Tatlock listened patiently to the story, which was told somewhat disjointedly, but with impassioned gesture. Now and again he dropped in a question, which was the means of eliciting a good deal of straightforward information, calculated to help him in working out a theory, and Madame felt a trifle happier when he took leave of her, with the assurance that he would use every endeavour to recover her picture.

As was his wont he thought the whole matter out very carefully, and examined all the possibilities. He knew that on the Continental lines robberies were of frequent occurrence. However charitably disposed one might be, it was impossible to acquit the companies of a laxity of supervision, which made crime comparatively easy. Complaints were numerous of the ransacking of passengers' luggage and the pilfering of small things, but the theft of the picture seemed to Tatlock to point to an organised plan and a pre-knowledge of the valuable contents of the wooden case. He had been careful to ascertain that when the case was opened at Richmond there was no appearance of its having been previously disturbed. It had passed through the English Custom House without examination, the 'declaration of contents' being accepted as accurate. It was very obvious, therefore, that if the picture had been stolen while in transit the thieves must have been well prepared, and have had facilities afforded them for carrying out the robbery; nor was it less clear that they were no ordinary pilferers, for the vulgar luggage-rifler would hardly be likely to carry off a unique work of art, which could only be disposed of at very great risk and under exceptionally favourable circumstances.

Tatlock had a free hand with regard to his investigations. Madame, with the enthusiasm of the art worshipper, had told him he was to spare no expense if he thought there was the faintest chance of recovering the Madonna. From the first he was of the opinion that the chances were very good, for whereas a watch, or ring, or the like, could have easily been disposed of, there was no open market for a painting | | 236 by so celebrated an artist as Rubens. A genuine Rubens was far too rare for the typical pilferer to be able to offer it for sale without attracting attention to himself. A collector or dealer would to a certainty inquire about its history, and wish to know how it came into the possession of the vendor. These facts were so indisputable that it was impossible to avoid the conclusion that the guilty parties were no ordinary railway thieves.

As already stated, there had been quite a mass of correspondence on the subject. Each company over whose system the package travelled was excessively desirous of repudiating any suggestion that laxity of supervision on their part had rendered the thief's way easy. Each company tried to pose as the embodiment of all the virtues, and declared with an emphasis the outcome of firm conviction that 'it is impossible that the picture could have been stolen while it was passing over our line,' and, further, each Continental company, with the smug consciousness of exalted virtue, hinted in what might almost be described as veiled allegory that if the picture had really been stolen in transit the search-light of exhaustive inquiry should be directed on the English system. They did not make any definite accusation, but told pretty fairy stories of things that were said to have happened on English railways. Tatlock, who carefully examined this correspondence, knew what value to attach to the protestations of sweet innocence. Nor was it from any insular prejudice or obliquity of vision to the sins of his compatriots that he made up his mind that it was impossible the Madonna could have been stolen in England. The box was put on hoard of the steamer at Boulogne. The passage across the Channel occupied a little over an hour, and there was absolutely no opportunity for the box to be opened, the picture taken out, and the packing replaced in its original state unless captain and crew were in league. Such an idea as that was too absurd for consideration. Landed at Folkestone, and being marked to be expedited by grande vitesse—that is to say, by express, which meant passenger train instead of ordinary goods—it | | 237 was placed with the passengers' luggage in the London boat train at Folkestone. In London it came under the notice of the custom-house authorities, but they did not open the box, and in less than twenty-four hours it was delivered at its destination.

Tatlock's inquiries and investigations were of a very exhaustive nature, and the result was that he came to the conclusion that the Madonna had never left Bologna. That suggested one or two probabilities, and narrowed the area of search considerably. One day, in the character of an art treasure seeker, he called upon Jacob Weinberg, a German Jew long resident in Italy. He was a striking-looking man, seventy years of age if a day. His singularly lined and drawn face bore in it evidence of a life spent in greed for gain. His small and somewhat vicious-looking eyes were strangely suggestive of a sleepless watchfulness for chances of money-making. Jacob Weinberg was a little man, with a restless, nervous temperament, and a wonderful command of the voluble language of persuasion, which men of his calling and religion possess to a greater or lesser degree. He displayed a passionate eagerness to trade, and a feverish anxiety lest a possible customer should depart without purchasing.

He lived in a mouldy old house that had once been a palace. Bologna is full of palaces, and the cobbler who patches your shoes beats his leather and plies his awl under a roof which probably, in the times of long ago, may have sheltered some representative of Italy's wealth and grandeur in the days of her greatness. Jacob Weinberg took snuff in a somewhat disagreeable manner; his garments were ancient and patched, and he evidently attached no weight to the axiom that 'cleanliness is next to godliness.'

As 'Mr. John Sturgess, of London,' Tyler Tatlock inspected the art treasures in Jacob Weinberg's storehouse, and he priced this and that, and made numerous inquiries. The old Jew had somewhat of a European reputation. He was in correspondence with many notabilities, and often received commissions to ransack the capitals of the Continent in search of some particular work of art that was much | | 238 coveted. That he was an authority in such matters was undoubted, and in his way he was a character of much originality.

When 'Mr. Sturgess' had finished his inspection he alluded to the loss of the Madonna, and this allusion drew from the Jew an exclamation of surprise.

'Ah, you know Madame Irene?'

'A little.'

'She is to be pitied: she is to be pitied. It is sad that she should lose that fine head I sold her. Who could have stolen it, I wonder ?'

'I wonder, too,' replied Tatlock reflectively.

'It could not have been done by any ordinary thief. It was all so cleverly managed.'

'Have you any theory of the robbery?' asked Tatlock.

'Yes, yes.'

'What is it?'

'Madame Irene got that Madonna very cheap. She beat me down; she is so clever, and I—I am weak, you know. She is so charming a lady that she made a triumph over me. It gave her great joy, and she must have talked about it. That is so very like a woman, you know. Madame is a great lady, and I am a poor Jew—very, very poor. But I love art, and I make many sacrifices. I like my patrons to have good things ; and sometimes I lose in my bargains.'

'But how does that square in with the theory of the robbery?'

'Ah, I come to that. Madame she made a big story, no doubt. She tells people she has bought a genuine Madonna, and that she squeezed poor old Weinberg until she got her picture for the price of dirt. She boasts about that picture, and the story spreads. Then somebody who hears it makes a fine plan to steal it.'

'But surely more than one person must have been mixed up in the affair?'

'Beyond doubt. It is a business. Several persons perhaps have an interest. They provide money. They give a big bribe to some official on the railway. In Italy | | 239 the officials are such rascals. They get so little wages that they can be easily bought. If you comprehend that, then the rest is easy.'

'Then you believe that the head has never left Italy?'

'I believe the robbery was done in Italy; but now the Madonna may be the other side of the world.'

'I suppose you have done your best to help Madame in her search for the lost treasure?'

'Truly, truly have I. But it has been so cleverly done. It is so difficult to trace the thieves.'

'Then you don't think the picture is likely to be recovered?'

'Alas, I fear not.'

Tatlock dismissed the subject, and soon after, much to Weinberg's disgust, he departed without making a purchase. The following day he had to answer an anxious letter of inquiry from Madame Irene, in which she urged him to candidly tell her whether he had got any clue, and if he thought it likely he would recover the painting. In reply he said:

'It is impossible for me to say at present what the chances are of recovering the Madonna. The robbery seems to have been effected in a very clever manner. Of course the railway officials here are very indignant at the mere suggestion that the picture was stolen on any part of their system. They declare it would be absolutely impossible for such a thing to be done without there was a widespread conspiracy, which would necessarily involve a good many of the employees. From my own investigations I am pretty well convinced the theft was not committed on the Italian railways, and, though I do not wish to raise your hopes too much, I think it possible I shall ultimately succeed in solving the mystery.'

In less than a week of the date of despatch of this letter to Madame, Tyler Tatlock was in Milan, and one evening, accompanied by two gendarmes and an Italian detective, armed with the necessary legal authority for a domiciliary visit, he went to an old house in the Rue Cavour. It was | | 240 a sort of lumber place for the storage of all kinds of bric-"à"-brac and the like, and, after much rummaging about in what seemed most unlikely corners, the stolen Madonna was brought to light. Carefully packed and enfolded in long strips of canvas, it had been concealed on the beams of the roof in a loft where the spiders and dust were seldom disturbed. Forth from that house as a prisoner went a young Jew named Moses Weinberg, son of Jacob Weinberg, of Bologna, and the telegraph was set in motion to Bologna, carrying instructions that Jacob was to be arrested. And when the morrow dawned Madame Irene, to her joy and delight, was telegraphically informed by Tatlock that the lost Madonna had been recovered.

It was another triumph for Tatlock. His investigations had led him to suspect that old Weinberg could throw some light on the robbery. Link by link he worked out a chain of circumstantial evidence, and his deductions forced him to the conclusion that the Madonna was abstracted from the case by Weinberg himself after Madame had seen it packed and had herself gone away ; and when Tatlock learned that Weinberg's son managed a branch establishment in Milan, and that the son had visited the father a few days after Madame had made her purchase, then were his suspicions deepened, and he resolved to lay such information in Milan as would insure him the cooperation of the Milan police. It was a clever move, the result of accurate theorising, and, as was determined at a later stage, old Weinberg, annoyed at Madame's persistency in beating him down in price, resolved that, though he took her money, she should not have the picture, which he resolved, when the affair had blown over, to sell to another customer. That little bit of greed was his ruin, and he did not live to complete the sentence that was passed upon him.

<< story colophon >>