The picture gallery was a private museum filled with Italian masters, French Impressionists, and Picassos. The long hall was ablaze with the bewitching colors and forms painted by immortals. There were Monets and Renoirs, Canalettos and Guardis and Tintorettos. There was an exquisite Tiepolo and Guercino and a Titian, and there was almost a full wall of Cézannes. There was no calculating the value of the collection.
Tracy stared at the paintings a long time, savoring their beauty. "I hope these are well guarded."
The count smiled. "On three occasions thieves have tried to get at my treasures. One was killed by my dog, the second was maimed, and the third is serving a life term in prison. The château is an invulnerable fortress, Duchess."
"I'm so relieved to hear that, Count."
There was a bright flash of light from outside. "The fireworks display is beginning," the count said. "I think you'll be amused." He took Tracy's soft hand in his papery, dry one and led her out of the picture gallery. "I'm leaving for Deauville in the morning, where I have a villa on the sea. I've invited a few friends down next weekend. You might enjoy it."
"I'm sure I would," Tracy said regretfully, "but I'm afraid my husband is getting restless. He insists that I return."
The fireworks display lasted for almost an hour, and Tracy took advantage of the distraction to reconnoiter the house. What Jeff had said was true: The odds against a successful burglary were formidable, but for that very reason Tracy found the challenge irresistible. She knew that upstairs in the count's bedroom were $2 million in jewels, and half a dozen masterpieces, including a Leonardo.
The château is a treasure house, Gunther Hartog had told her, and it's guarded like one. Don't make a move unless you have a foolproof plan.
Well, I've worked out a plan, Tracy thought. Whether it's foolproof or not, I'll know tomorrow.
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