The Vanishing Painting

Usually, Jack Barnes was at home when the Detective Club got a call. This was convenient.  That way, he and the other members (Kurt Morris, Robbie Ransom) could get over to wherever the case was right away and start working on a crime.  Ahem, working on solving a crime.

Thus, you can imagine Jack’s chagrin to get home one afternoon only to find that there was a message.  For him.  About a case.  He’d missed the call!

Fortunately, he’d missed it by five minutes.  The call was from the Destiny Art Gallery, a local art museum not too far from Jack’s house.  A painting had vanished, and the proprietor (Cecil E. Edwards) wanted Jack, Kurt, and Robbie to find it.  Quickly, Jack dialed up Kurt and Robbie, and the three detectives were soon on their way to the museum.

“You said the Destiny Art Gallery, right?” said Kurt.

Jack nodded.

“That’s got to be one of THE most boring places I’ve ever visited in the city,” said Kurt.

“Well don’t tell them that,” said Jack.  “They want us to solve a mystery for them.”

“I’ve already solved it,” said Kurt.  “Someone thought said painting was trash, and they threw it out.  It’s lying in a trash can right now, and it will hopefully be in a dump by the time we find it.”

“Maybe they’ll incinerate it,” joked Robbie.

“Even better,” said Kurt.  “I hope they have a picture of it waiting when we get there.”

“Well, there’s the place,” said Jack.  The two-story stone structure rose above the street, though a good view of it was blocked by a knockoff of the pyramid from the Louvre in Paris.  This pyramid, however, was much smaller than its French counterpart.

“Parking lot’s not too crowded,” commented Kurt.  “People are getting smarter.”

“Shhh,” said Jack.  He walked up to the entrance and tried the handle.  It was locked.  However, the door was soon opened by Officer Sanders, who the boys knew from prior cases.

“Oh, did you boys get called in on this?” said Sanders, opening the door.

Jack nodded.

“I don’t blame them,” said Sanders.  “This case has me stumped.  I think it would have anyone stumped.  This way, please.”

“How’s Officer Williams, by the way?” Jack asked.  Officer Williams was another friend of the boys.  He’d gotten shot in a prior case and was off duty while he recovered.

“Much better,” said Sanders.  “He’s supposed to be back in a couple weeks.  I don’t think he’d be able to solve this any better than—oh, here’s the proprietor.”

“Greetings,” said a man in a white suit.  He was bald, except for a sharply pointed goatee.  He also had wire-rimmed glasses.  However, he looked nothing like Scott Grissom (from “Madness at the Movies”).  This man had a more slender build and was quite a bit older.

“You’ve come about the painting, I see,” said Edwards.  “I can’t understand it.  We had truly top-of-the-line security in place.”

“What was the painting, first of all?” asked Jack.

“It was a local piece.  Moonlight on the Cowlitz River, by Anthony Churilov.

“I’ve heard of him,” said Robbie.  “Wasn’t he killed in a plane accident a couple months ago?”

“Yes, that was the same one,” said Edwards.  “It was quite a loss, too.  Churilov was poised to be one of the best artists in the world.  His death was a great blow to us personally.  As a result, Moonlight on the Cowlitz River is one of the few works in existence by him.”

“What did it look like?” asked Jack.  “Do you have a picture?”

“I do,” said Edwards, holding up a large photo.  It showed the painting, which was of…well, it was of moonlight glinting off the Cowlitz River.  What else would it be of?  (Don’t answer that!)  The painting was actually quite realistic.

“Wow!” said Kurt.  “That’s actually alright?”

“Alright?” Edwards looked sternly at him.

Jack changed the subject.  “Where was it displayed?”

“I was coming to that,” said Edwards, forgetting Kurt’s comment.  “It was in the Bergmann Gallery, which is—well, follow me.”

Edwards led the boys through a door into a large room covered with artwork.  He kept going, though, and led them through another door into a smaller room in the middle.  Then, he led them through another door into an even smaller room in the very center of the building.

“This is the Bergmann Gallery,” said Edwards.  “It’s where we keep all our most valuable paintings.  Each of the doors you passed through to get in here, however, is equipped with a very sensitive sensor.  The sensor is activated by a small chip on the back of each painting displayed within these walls.  However, none of them went off when the painting disappeared!”

Edwards motioned to the wall, where an empty golden frame surrounded an empty space of about two feet by four feet.

“Didn’t anyone see it disappear?” Robbie asked.

“Negative,” replied Edwards.  “There were three people in the room when it happened.  A security guard at the door saw them go in.  When the painting actually disappeared, the power had gone out.  However, that wouldn’t have affected the sensors, because they’re on a backup.  Also, the guard reported that no one went in or out during the outage.  The guard around the next ring says no one came in or out there, either.  It wasn’t until the lights came back on that the painting was discovered missing.”

“How long was the power out?” asked Kurt.

“About thirty seconds,” said Edwards.  “Long enough, I’m afraid.  None of the guests had the painting on them.  We searched them carefully and took their names, but they were all allowed to leave.”

“The sensor’s not in the room, either,” said Sanders.  “We searched to see if the thief might have taken it off, but we couldn’t find it.”

“It just seems to have vanished into thin air,” said Edwards.  “I hope you boys can figure out the solution.  You’ll get a nice reward if you do.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” said Jack, but Edwards cut him off.  “I insist.  That painting’s worth thousands of dollars.  Whoever recovers it will be doing us an invaluable favor.”

“Are there any other ways out besides the door?” asked Robbie.

“None,” said Sanders.  “We searched to make sure none were added, but none were.  The door’s the only place the painting possibly could have gone out.”

“Then the painting must have been carried through the door somehow,” said Kurt.

“Maybe,” said Robbie.  “Mr. Edwards?  What are those paintings on the wall across from where the missing one was?”

“Oh, those?” said Edwards.  “They’re on loan to us.  That’s the DeVrille Collection.”

“And those didn’t get stolen,” said Kurt, winking at Jack.  The Devrille paintings were nothing like the moonlight one.  They were gaudy assortments of the most meaningless shapes imaginable.  Neither Jack nor Kurt could understand how they’d become so valuable.

Robbie, however, seemed quite interested in them.  He walked over to the wall, turned to face the paintings, and put his head against it.  Immediately, he stepped back and walked over to one titled The Cone of Life.  This painting had only one cone in it, a small green one at the lower left-hand corner.  The rest of it was covered with other shapes that didn’t make any sense and didn’t blend well together at all.  Robbie stopped right in front of it—

And yanked it off the wall!  He slammed it against the floor, breaking the frame.  Out fell the ugly cone picture—

And out fell Moonlight on the Cowlitz River!

“I heard that in an old detective story once,” said Robbie.  “It’s a pretty clever trick.  Your alarm didn’t go off, Mr. Edwards, because the painting was never actually removed from this room.”

“Well I’ll be!” said Mr. Edwards.  “No wonder we couldn’t find it!  The DeVrille paintings are about the same size, so they’d cover it up easily.”  He frowned.  “But what could a thief possibly gain by hiding it there?  The DeVrille paintings aren’t for sale.  They’re due to go back to Chicago in another month.”

“Then this one would have gone with them,” said Robbie.  “You might want to check on the owners of the DeVrille paintings.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they had something to do with this.”

They had, and they confessed readily.  Unfortunately, they were not arrested!  You see, since Moonlight on the Cowlitz River had never left the building (or even the room, for that matter), it hadn’t technically been stolen.  There wasn’t anything the police could arrest the DeVrille Collection’s owners on.  However, they did not escape punishment.  Edwards made sure the press found out all about the crime, and it is quite certain that no museum in America will be hosting the DeVrille Collection anytime soon.