How Holmes Caught a Faux Forgery
Dear Detectives,
The Case of the Vanishing Vermeer was most peculiar, but with your help, Lady Neuheisel is once again in possession of her family’s prized heirloom and confident in its authenticity. Read Holmes’s solution letter below for a look at the case through his eyes.
The game is afoot,
The Dear Holmes Team
——
25 April, 1891
Dear Lady Neuheisel,
You must thank Lady Marlowe for speaking so well of me, and for inspiring you to write to me with your confounding case. Please also accept my regrets for not being able to attend to your case more personally. I have been confined to my rooms at Baker Street while I monitor a situation of national import. Even so, I am pleased to bear good tidings.
I am certain that your painting, The Kitchen Maid, is indeed a genuine work of Vermeer’s and not an imitation. As you stated, the painting has been passed down for generations in your family – the initials on the frame offer proof of that fact, and I find it difficult to believe that your ancestor, so close to the artist and a collector in his own right, would have treasured a mere copy of Vermeer’s work. No doubt this does little to explain the recent events involving your family’s heirloom, so allow me to demonstrate how I came to explain, amongst other things, your vanishing Vermeer.
When you wrote to me on 16 April, several facts seemed to weigh heavily in favour of the fact that your family’s painting was, at least once upon a time, authentic. I could not help but consider the fact that the painting had been appraised on more than one occasion, and had always been deemed to be a genuine Vermeer. So that set me to thinking: what about the painting has changed?
The answer to this question became obvious with your second letter. For the first time in many years, the painting was suddenly out of your possession, since you had given custody of it to Mr. Dover. When the painting left your house, it was known to be a Vermeer, but when it was returned approximately one month later, it was regarded as little more than an excellent copy. This did not necessarily indicate that Mr. Dover himself was responsible, but it did suggest something had occurred to the painting while he was in possession of it. You wondered if the original might have been stolen from his shop alongside the bespoke landscape painting. In a desperate attempt to hoodwink you, he could have applied his skills to create a replica, you thought.
This is not what occurred, but it is not far from the truth. Since you had observed the restoration process on more than one occasion, I questioned how someone could have substituted a spurious copy for your original. Initially, I found the fact that Mr. Dover preferred to work at night interesting and his explanation made sense – on the surface. However, I also reasoned that working at night would free him from the observing eyes of the two clerks whom you mentioned. There was also the matter of the burglary. Although it seemed all too conveniently timed, there was no particular evidence suggesting your heirloom was a specific target. The fact that the pillow used by the burglar smelt of your servant’s perfume seemed very singular, indeed I suspected collusion, but there was nothing indicating a clear culprit. My theorising slowed at this point, short of evidence, until your letter of 22 April arrived.
This third letter provided details that would help confirm my suspicions, though it also cast doubt over your husband and Malcolm LeGrand. Your descriptions of Mr. Dover’s shop indicated a dominating presence of genre paintings – such as those painted by Vermeer – which pointed towards my suspicions. And when Mr. Dover admitted to you that he was responsible for an excellent imitation of The Merry Fiddler, originally executed by Gerard van Honthorst (a contemporary of Vermeer’s), those suspicions reached their peak. Still, suspecting and proving are two very different feats.
I started realising the proof of Mr. Dover’s crimes, and his modus operandi, after learning that your painting was still in its original frame. Many art thieves and forgers are also capable artists themselves. They will go to great lengths to acquire the wood from the “correct” time period for a frame, and know to use certain canvases, stretchers and paints, depending on the piece. When necessary, they will buy furniture from the period in question and construct their own frames. If the situation requires it, a thief might even purchase a lesser-known painting from the same era as their target and strip the paint from it, so that the canvas appears properly dated. What makes Dover’s crime so audacious is the fact he did none of these things.
I follow a simple maxim during my investigations: When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. The painting you submitted to Mr. Dover was indeed an authentic work of art by Johannes Vermeer. I surmise that Dover cleaned the original, then applied a coat of varnish to protect it before painting his own version of The Kitchen Maid over your family’s treasure. You will recall that when Dover’s clerk filled the bottles with solvents, he also filled one with a yellow-tinted liquid, which you described as “thicker” than the others. I am certain the liquid in question was varnish. As I’m sure you know, a thin layer of varnish is often applied to protect paintings. This revelation explained the “alchemy” to which your painting had been subject, but it led me to another question: Why did Mr. Dover keep your painting under glass?
The answer is uncomplicated. He wanted you to witness the painting’s “rebirth” but could not risk you touching its fresh coat of paint. The colours of the bright new product were indeed a new product; Dover’s own oil paints on top of the varnish which he had previously applied. The process required a month of time because Dover needed his painting to properly dry. Once it did, he surely baked the new work of art in an effort to cure the oils before his next step. I identified this next step, and in turn strengthened my theory, with my man MacTavish’s report, which arrived with your last letter only a day ago, 24 April.
MacTavish, an art expert of no small renown, seconded your opinion, regarding any possibility of substituting one painting for another or covering your canvas with another. This earned my theory another point, but more notably, MacTavish wrote of the painting’s qualities, and of its “pattern of cracks”. MacTavish was correct to say that the pattern of cracks suggested a contemporary of Vermeer, but he failed to realise that one could just as well reproduce that pattern today. Especially if one is a specialist like Dover.
The clever artist must have struck the newly dried and cured surface of the painting, gently, with a cricket ball or some other such object to induce the “craquelure” characteristic of older paintings. While rolling a painting over a cylindrical object (for example, a pipe) would produce unidirectional cracks, the surface of a round object will produce the web-like pattern so often seen in the works of Old Masters. Dover then, as MacTavish suggested one might do, outlined some of the “cracks” he created in dark ink, to make them more pronounced. Had Mr. Dover used a badger brush, such as Vermeer employed in his later years, I think his copy might have fooled any number of experts, but he wanted the painting’s dubious status to be detected, so he deliberately caused the brushstrokes and the impasto applications to stand out. One can but wonder what a career he might have had, had he employed his talents for good.
I have notified Scotland Yard about Mr. Dover’s obvious criminal offence and my dear colleague Inspector Lestrade has promised to lead the investigation. He will also be assisting your constabulary in locating and questioning your servant, Miss Sarah Knowles, and her “friend”, Michael Jennings. This last request I made shortly after reading your own letter yesterday, and its mention of Miss Knowles and Mr. Jennings’ quiet departure.
Thinking on Miss Knowles’ behaviour after the burglary, and her interactions with Jennings, I have no doubt that the young assistant was your burglar. In all likelihood, he urged Miss Knowles to aid in a small heist that might allow them to live in comfort for the rest of their lives.
Jennings was familiar with your family’s curious circumstances. He not only knew your guard would be down, but also had knowledge of your family’s house and belongings from Miss Knowles. As an added measure of safety, he deployed his knowledge of LeGrand’s eccentricities and left a “slipper print” at the crime to throw investigators off. Reviewing your earlier interviews with Miss Knowles, it is unsurprising that she “forbade” Mrs. Hopkins from further pursuing the thief on that evening. This was but a way of ensuring that her beloved would successfully escape after the surprise attack, safe from further harm and watchful eyes.
It has always been an item of fascination with me how one crime attracts another. I fear that Mr. Dover, as a “bad apple” might have passed on his corrupt influence to an apprentice. As for your bracelet, it likely remains in Miss Knowles’ possession. Mr. Lestrade has arranged to search the young man’s apartment, which is apparently in London. If possible, his men will retrieve the piece. If this effort fails, you should be pleased that the Vermeer will soon be “restored” to you.
I am certain that if you bring the painting to a reputable auction house, the experts there will be able to remove Dover’s handiwork and restore your Vermeer to its original glory. If you would like assistance in this regard, I am glad to provide you with recommendations. Otherwise, I will lend Lestrade a hand once my current pressing business is concluded and your painting has been verified as a Vermeer.
You have done a masterful job, Lady Neuheisel, of gathering the information needed to solve this mystery. And your cook, Mrs. Hopkins, must be commended for the brilliant skill with which she wields a pan. May the end of this case mark the beginnings of better times for your family.
Your humble servant,
