Ives asked him about the Gainsborough offered to Demmiwood.
“A fine piece,” Parala said. “I thought of him at once. I find Gainsborough too sentimental, but there are those who still favor his style.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
Ives looked at Gareth. “He is not at liberty to say.”
“Damned inconvenient.”
Ives menaced his size over the picture seller. “Liberty.An interesting word. If you do not tell us where you procured that painting, your own liberty will cease for many years. You may even swing. Demmiwood is prepared to swear information against you that you offered him a forgery.”
“Forgery! How dare he accuse me of that?”
“Because itisa forgery,” Gareth said.
Parala’s mad gaze shifted from him to Ives and back again. “You sound very sure.”
“We are completely sure.”
“The paint isn’t even totally dry,” Gareth said.
“Oh, dear. Oh, my.” Parala crossed his arms, tucked his scarlet shoes under the chair, and huddled in on himself. “I had noidea. You must believe me. There was no signature, but that is common. The style spoke for itself.”
“Where did you get it?” Ives asked again.
Parala’s face twisted with fury. He turned to his desk. He picked up his pen and jotted. “The blackguard. The rogue. To put me at such risk—I hope he hangs. Here is his name and place of business. Horace Zwilliger is his name. Tell him his old friend Longinus sent you.”
***
“We must go at once,” Ives said as soon as they left Parala’s gallery. “We cannot risk this Zwilliger fellow bolting.”
Gareth did not want to go at once. He wanted to return to Langley House, find Eva, and say all the things he would have said last night.
Ives rode off. Gareth grudgingly followed. They rode quickly to the address provided by Parala. It turned out to be a small house tucked next to a brothel in the St. Giles stews.
“It does not appear he has profited much from his crime,” Gareth said.
“Do not let this fool you. I have prosecuted crime lords worth hundreds of thousands who hid amid this squalor. It makes an excellent camouflage. Do you have a pistol?” He reached down to his saddle and lifted a small one from a pouch there.
“Unlike you, I do not ride about town armed. But then I do not attract the attention you do, either.” Gareth looked around pointedly. Several men had stopped on the street and now stared at Ives. “They know you.”
Ives swung off his horse and tied it, making no effort to hide the pistol. “Have no fear. The fellow across the lane was spared the noose due to my efforts. When the cause is just, I do notalways prosecute. Since he owes me his life, I think he will make sure these horses do not walk off.”
Gareth led the way to the door of the house. Ives still carried the pistol. When the door opened, Ives handed his card with one hand, while he pointed the weapon with the other. It went without saying that they gained entrance.
Mr. Zwilliger looked to be late in his middle years. With his narrow eyes, big hearty build, and dark-haired head, he would make a good tavern owner. He listened to their introductions calmly enough, but he watched that pistol out of the corner of his eye.
Finally, he pointed to it. “Is this necessary, gentlemen? I am a peace-loving man. I know the neighborhood is not the best, but—”
“There is evidence you have committed a capital crime,” Ives said. “I am always careful when meeting such men.”
“I have committed no crime.”
Gareth told him about the forged Gainsborough. “We assume there are others.”
Zwilliger responded with shock. “This is terrible. I am undone. It is true that I handle art at times. I am no great expert, but my judgment is sound. Like most I depend on the honesty of those who sell to me. To learn I have been deceived and defrauded, and implicated in such a way—” He flushed and flustered and almost cried.
