The first thing he noticed was that the stranger was using the drawing room as a bedroom.

He quickly climbed the stairs. A chill ran over him.

Most of the walls had been knocked down to create a spacious open room. In the center was a large white table. Mounted on the side was a microscope with a long retractable arm. On another table were clear flasks of chemicals, which Peel reckoned were the source of the strange odor, and two strange visors with powerful magnifying glasses built into them. Atop a tall, adjustable stand was a bank of fluorescent lights, the source of the cottage’s peculiar glow.

There were other instruments Peel could not identify, but these things were not the source of his alarm. Mounted on a pair of heavy wooden easels were two paintings. One was large, very old looking, a religious scene of some sort. Parts had flaked away. On the second easel was a painting of an old man, a young woman, and a child. Peel examined the signature in the bottom right-hand corner: Rembrandt.

He turned to leave and found himself face-to-face with the stranger.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m‘s-s-sorry,” Peel stammered. “I thought you were here.”

“No you didn’t. You knew I was away, because you were watching me from your bedroom window when I left. In fact, you’ve been watching me since the summer.”

“I thought you might be a smuggler.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The boat,” Peel lied.

The stranger smiled briefly. “Now you know the truth.”

“Not really,” said Peel.

“I’m an art restorer. Paintings are old objects. Sometimes they need a little fixing up, like a cottage, for example.”

“Or a boat,” said Peel.

“Exactly. Some paintings, like these, are very valuable.”

“More than a sailboat?”

“Much more. But now that you know what’s in here, we have a problem.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Peel pleaded. “Honest.”