The Mystery of Sinister Scarecrow - M. V. Carey [14]
Mr. Malz.”
Letitia shrugged. “There isn’t
much to tell. He’s been curator of the
Mosby collection for ages. He was at
the Mosby place before old Mr.
Mosby died, and now he lives in the
Mosby house and … and that’s all I
can think of.”
“That isn’t a lot,” said Bob, who
had been making notes.
Jupe
looked
appealingly
at
Woolley, who shook his head. “Don’t
ask me,” he said. “I haven’t paid that
much attention to the man.”
Letitia
Radford
frowned
in
concentration. “Really,” she said, “there isn’t a lot to know about Gerry.
He went to the Graham Art Institute in Los Angeles, and then he went to work for Mr. Mosby. He lives in the Mosby house and he superintends the men who work there during the day. He does restoration work on the paintings and other things in the collection, and he shows visitors around the galleries. They have to make appointments before they can come, so he can see to it that he’s not overworked. I think he’s got a nice job.”
“Does he have any family?” Jupe asked.
“No,” said Letitia. “I’ve never heard him talk about anyone.”
“A loner, eh?” said Jupe. “What does he do with his spare time?”
“Nothing much. He plays chess with Mrs. Chumley, and that’s about all.” She brightened. “Come to think of it, he’s coming to lunch today and then he and Mrs.
Chumley are going to play chess. Want to meet him? You can come to lunch, too.”
Jupiter nodded. “Thank you. We would like to meet him. I think we should get to know everyone whom you see regularly. Because the person who’s persecuting you is most likely someone you know!”
Chapter 8
The Treasure Vault
LUNCH WAS SERVED in the dining room of the Radford mansion, with Mrs.
Chumley sitting at the head of the long table and Letitia Radford at the foot. Gerhart Malz sat at Mrs. Chumley’s right, and talked at length about the Mosby Museum.
“We have a really first-rate Vermeer,” he told the boys. He had lively blue eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles, and his close-cropped hair was so fair that it was almost white. There was a ruddy tint to his skin, and veins showed in his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. “Vermeer is a marvel,” he went on. “One of the greatest of the Dutch painters. Mrs. Chumley is devoted to him. Aren’t you, Mrs. Chumley?’’
The woman at the head of the table nodded.
“Mrs. Chumley has a copy of our Vermeer,” said Malz. “It’s called ‘Woman with a Rose,’ and it was done by a student. We let people who want to study the techniques of the old masters come into the galleries and copy the famous pictures. They have to get permission in advance, of course, and the copies can’t be the same size as the original.”
“My copy of the Vermeer is larger than the real one,” said Mrs. Chumley. “If it weren’t for that, you couldn’t tell which is which.”
She had finished her lunch, and she put her napkin down on the table. “Would you boys care to see my picture?” she asked.
Malz didn’t wait for an answer. He wheeled Mrs. Chumley away from the table.
Letitia and the boys followed him across the hall to a little sitting room that had windows looking out over the lawns behind the house. Through an open door the boys could see that the sitting room was part of a suite; a bedroom adjoined it.
“These were my mother’s rooms,” said Letitia. “I’ve always liked it here. It’s cozy in the winter when the fire is lighted.”
“Now, dear, you know I don’t have to stay here,” said Mrs. Chumley. “There’s a spare bedroom in the servants’ wing. I can move my things there.”
“Don’t be silly, Mrs. Chumley,” said Letitia “There’s no reason for you to leave here.”
She pointed to the picture that hung over the mantel. “There’s the copy of the Vermeer,” she said.
The boys looked in silence. The painting was a life-size study of a young woman in a blue dress and a lace cap. She stood looking out of a window, holding a yellow rose in her hand.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” said Malz.
Mrs. Chumley swung her wheelchair about. “You don’t expect any visitors at the museum this afternoon,” she said to Malz. “Why don’t you take the boys across the road and show them