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painted it died or was no longer painting in a particular place. There’s an account of some grand pieces of jewelry ceasing to be represented in a court’s artwork.”
    “And the painter?”
    “Indian artists weren’t always as well documented as European artists. Some Mughal emperors, like Akbar, were interested in their artists receiving credit for their work. Elsewhere, though, many paintings are unattributed. Meaning there’s no way of actually proving that particular theory. But since the jewelry depicted didn’t show up again, that’s the popular understanding. Rather than that the jewelry actually existed.”
    “But that’s a theory based on no evidence .”
    “Personally I thought it was most likely the gold was melted down,” Lane said. “It was, and still is, quite common in India for new techniques and styles to replace traditional ones. Unfortunately, but understandably, they use the existing materials they have on hand. That’s one of the biggest problems of studying the art history of such malleable forms. But if that was the case, it was odd that the distinctive gemstones never resurfaced. They should have. If they existed. Which is why the theory embracing Selective Realism doesn’t seem like such a stretch.”
    “When did it disappear?”
    “Centuries ago. Long before the advent of photography. That’s why it’s amazing you—” He stopped abruptly.
    “What?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “What is it?”
    “I was wondering,” he said slowly, “if it’s possible to fake a photo this good.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “I know it looks real. But it would prove established belief wrong. That creates a huge motivation to fake something like this.”
    I glanced uneasily at the messenger bag at my feet.
    “It’s not a fake,” I said.
    “How do you know? Photoshop is really good these days.”
    “Trust me.”
    “No offense,” he said as though he meant the opposite, “but I’m guessing you don’t have a trained eye, since you came here for help.”
    “Okay, then don’t trust me. Treat it as a hypothetical exercise.”
    He sat perfectly still as he looked at me coldly. “I don’t have time for hypothetical exercises.”
    “Then believe me when I tell you it’s real.”
    “I don’t know what you expect to learn from whatever game you’re playing.”
    “I’m not—”
    Lane stood up without warning and squeezed around the desk. He leaned across me and pulled the office door open, leaving his hand firmly planted on the doorknob. “Thanks for stopping by.”
    “It’s not a game,” I said. I made no attempt to leave.
    He loomed above me, his expression blank. I swiveled in the folding chair and kicked the door shut. It threw him off balance. He nearly fell, but caught himself on the desk and glared at me.
    “What if I told you I have it?” I said. “That I was given the bracelet.”
    “You can’t be serious.” Lane sat down on the edge of the desk and gaped at me. “You’re serious ?”
    I picked up my bag and extracted Rupert’s handkerchief. I opened the folds and held it out in front of him. Even in the bad florescent lighting, the uncut ruby shone beautifully.
    He didn’t presume I’d let him touch it, but he leaned in closer. When he looked up, I saw the awe in his eyes.
    “You can’t expect me to believe,” he said, “that your friend casually handed this to you without any explanation.”
    “I never said that,” I said. “It did belong to a friend who gave it to me. But I don’t know where he got it. He’s dead, so I can’t ask him.”
    “And the rest?”
    “It only had the one ruby when I got it.”
    “No, I mean the other pieces of the collection. The full treasure. He didn’t leave the rest to you as well?”
    I stared openmouthed at Lane. He must have thought the bracelet had been left to me as part of an estate in a will. There was more? My normally expressive vocal chords didn’t want to cooperate. I swallowed and shook my head.
    “A