and authenticate pictures by an inspection of the underpainting and a chemical analysis of the pigments, but by studying the creative personality revealed in the picture's conception and execution. He asks himself: Does this work of art embody the qualities of form and technique and mental attitude that made up the genius—namely, the personality—of Rubens, or Michelangelo, or Veronese, or Titian, or Tintoretto, or whoever may be the artist to whom the work has been tentatively credited."
"My mind is, I fear," Markham confessed, "still sufficiently primitive to be impressed by vulgar facts; and in the present instance—unfortunately for your most original and artistic analogy—I possess quite an array of such facts, all of which indicate that a certain young woman is the—shall we say?—creator of the criminal opus entitled The Murder of Alvin Benson."
Vance shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly.
"Would you mind telling me—in confidence, of course—what these facts are?"
"Certainly not," Markham acceded. "Imprimis: the lady was in the house at the time the shot was fired."
Vance affected incredibility.
"Eh—my word! She was actu'lly there? Most extr'ordin'ry!"
"The evidence of her presence is unassailable," pursued Markham. "As you know, the gloves she wore at dinner, and the hand-bag she carried with her, were both found on the mantel in Benson's living-room."
