CHAPTER XIII
INSIDE THE MUSEUM
THAT afternoon, about the hour of three, an elderly gentleman who looked like a person of culture and refinement, entered the Municipal Museum.
At the information desk, he asked concerning a certain painting, and was directed to the second floor. He thanked the woman at the desk and ascended the stairs, passing the close scrutiny of the guards and the police stationed there. There was nothing to cause suspicion in the appearance of an elderly man who evidently was a lover of art.
He found the painting for which he had asked, and stood before it for some time, looking at it, now stepping forward and now retreating, now and then walking to one side to get a better reflection of light on the canvas.
"Marvelous!" he said, in a thin voice, to one of the attendants. "Such coloring! And such technic!"
"Yes, them old boys knew how to sling the paint," the attendant informed him.
"Sling the paint? What a quaint idiom!" the elderly gentleman remarked and the attendant walked on, calling upon the world to witness that the crop of maniacs was getting larger every year, and that they all visited the museum.
Having inspected that particular picture to his evident satisfaction, the elderly gentleman went
