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  Stein had continued to paint Impressionist pictures, but now signed them with his own name; thanks to his indubitable talent he was still making a handsome living. He had known and admired Jean-Pierre for several years and when he heard the story of Metcalfe and Prospecta Oil, he agreed to produce a Van Gogh for $10,000 and to sign the painting with the master’s famous “Vincent.”

  Jean-Pierre had gone to considerable lengths to identify a Van Gogh that had vanished in mysterious circumstances, so that Stein could resurrect it to tempt Harvey. He had started with de la Faille’s comprehensive oeuvres catalog, The Works of Vincent Van Gogb, and selected from it three pictures that had hung in the National Gallery in Berlin prior to the Second World War. In de la Faille, they were entered under Nos. 485, Les Amoureux (The Lovers), 628, La Moisson (The Harvest), and 766, Le Jardin de Daubigny (The Garden of Daubigny). The last two were known to have been bought in 1929 by the Berlin Gallery, and Les Amoureux probably was bought around the same time. At the start of the war, all three had disappeared.

  Jean-Pierre then contacted Professor Wormit of the Preussischer Kulturbesitz. The Professor, a world authority on missing works of art, was able to rule out one of the possibilities, Le Jardin de Daubigny; soon after the war it apparently had reappeared in the collection of Siegfried Kramarsky in New York, though how it got there remains a mystery. Kramarsky had subsequently sold the painting to the Nichido Gallery in Tokyo, where it now hangs. The Professor confirmed that the fate of the other two Van Goghs remained unknown.

  Next Jean-Pierre turned to Madame Tellegen-Hoogendoorm of the Dutch Rijksbureau voor Kunsthistorische Documentatie. Madame Tellegen was the acknowledged authority on Van Gogh and gradually, with her expert help, Jean-Pierre pieced together the story of the missing paintings. They had been removed, along with many others, from the Berlin National Gallery in 1937 by the Nazis, despite vigorous protests from the Director, Dr. Hanfstaengl, and the Keeper of Paintings, Dr. Hentzen. The paintings, stigmatized by the philistinism of the National Socialists as degenerate art, were stored in a depot in the Kopenickerstrasse in Berlin. Hitler himself visited the depot in January 1938, and legalized the proceedings as an official confiscation.

  What happened to the two Van Goghs after that, nobody knows. Many of the Nazi-confiscated works were quietly sold abroad by Joseph Angerer, an agent of Hermann Goering, to obtain much-needed foreign currency for the Führer. Some were disposed of in a sale organized by the Fischer Art Gallery in Lucerne on June 30th, 1939. But many of the works in the depot in the Kopenickerstrasse were simply burned, stolen, or are still missing.

  Jean-Pierre managed to obtain black-and-white reproductions of Les Amoureux and La Moisson: no color positives survive, if they were ever made. It seemed to Jean-Pierre unlikely that any color reproductions of two paintings last seen in 1938 would exist anywhere. He therefore settled down to choose between the two.

  Les Amoureux was the larger of the two, at 76 × 91 cm. However, Van Gogh did not seem to have been satisfied with it. In October 1889 (letter No. 556) he referred to “a very poor sketch of my last canvas.” Moreover, it was impossible to guess the color of the background. La Moisson, in contrast, had pleased Van Gogh. He had painted the oil in September 1889 and written of it, “I feel very much inclined to do the reaper once more for my mother” (letter No. 604). He had in fact already painted three other very similar pictures of a reaper at harvest time. Jean-Pierre was able to obtain color transparencies of two of them, one from the Louvre and the other from the Rijksmuseum, where they now hang. He studied the sequence. The position of the sun, and the play of light on the scene, were practically the only points of difference. Jean-Pierre was therefore able to see in his mind’s eye what La Moisson must have looked like in color.

  Stein agreed with Jean-Pierre’s final choice and he studied the black-and-white reproduction of La Moisson and the color transparencies of its sister paintings long and minutely before he set to work. He then found an insignificant late-nineteenth-century French work, and skillfully removed the paint from it, leaving a clean canvas except for a vital stamp on the back which even Stein could not have reproduced. He marked on the canvas the exact size of the picture, 48.5 × 53 cm. and selected a palette knife and brush of the type that Van Gogh had favored. Six weeks later La Moisson was finished. Stein varnished it, and baked it for four days in an oven at a gentle 85°F. to age it. Jean-Pierre provided a heavy gilt Impressionist frame and it was well ready for Harvey Metcalfe’s scrutiny.

  Harvey, acting on his overheard tip, could see no harm in dropping into the Lamanns Gallery. He was about five paces away when he first caught sight of the picture being taken out of the window. He could not believe his eyes. A Van Gogh, without a doubt, and a superlative one at that. La Moisson had actually been on display for only two minutes.

  Harvey almost ran into the gallery, only to discover Jean-Pierre deep in conversation with Stephen and James. None of them took any notice of him. Stephen was addressing Jean-Pierre in a guttural accent.

  “170,000 guineas seems high, but it is a fine example. Can you be sure it is the picture that disappeared from Berlin in 1937?”

  “You can never be sure of anything, but you can see on the back of the canvas the stamp of the Berlin National Gallery, and the Bernheim Jeune have confirmed they sold it to the Germans in 1927. The rest of its history is well chronicled back to 1890. It seems certain that it was looted from the museum in the upheaval of the war.”

  “How did you come into possession of the painting?”

  “From the private collection of a member of the British aristocracy who wishes to remain anonymous.”

  “Excellent,” said Stephen. “I would like to reserve it until 4 P.M. when I will bring around a check for 170,000 guineas from the Dresdner Bank A.G. Will that be acceptable?”

  “Of course, sir,” replied Jean-Pierre. “I will place a red dot on it.”

  James, in the sharpest of suits and a dashing trilby, hovered knowledgeably behind Stephen.

  “It certainly is a marvelous example of the master’s work,” he remarked ingratiatingly.

  “Yes. I took it around to Julian Barron at Sotheby’s and he seemed to like it.”

  James retreated mincingly to the end of the gallery, relishing his role as a connoisseur. At that moment Robin walked in, a copy of the Guardian sticking out of his pocket.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lamanns. I heard a rumor at Sotheby’s about a Van Gogh which I’d always thought must be in Russia. I’d like to write a few paragraphs about the history of the painting and how you came into possession of it for tomorrow’s paper. Is that O.K. by you?”

  “I should be delighted,” said Jean-Pierre, “although actually I have just reserved the picture for Herr Drosser, the distinguished German dealer, at 170,000 guineas.”

  “Very reasonable,” said James knowingly from the end of the gallery. “I think it’s the best Van Gogh I have seen in London since Mademoiselle Revoux and I’m only sorry my house won’t be auctioning it. You’re a lucky man, Mr. Drosser. If you ever decide to sell it, don’t hesitate to contact me.” James handed Stephen a card and smiled at Jean-Pierre.

  Jean-Pierre watched James. It was a fine performance. Robin began to take notes in what he hoped looked like shorthand and again addressed Jean-Pierre.

  “Do you have a photograph of the picture?”

  “Of course.”

  Jean-Pierre opened a drawer and took out a color photograph of the picture with a typewritten description attached. He handed it to Robin.

  “Do watch the spelling of Lamanns, won’t you? I get so bored with being confused with a French motor car race.”

  He turned to Stephen.

  “So sorry to keep you waiting, Herr Drosser. How would you like us to dispatch the picture?”

  “You can send it to me at the Dorchester tomorrow morning, room 120.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Stephen started to leave.

  “Excuse me, sir,�