The pair was standing beside a platform, on top of which an imposing granite throne was positioned. The throne had a striped marble seat, high carved armrests topped with stone pommels, and ivy carved around the base. I wondered if the Duchess actually sat in that throne and ordered people around, like a real duchess might.

Susan’s acquaintance had a solemn frown on his distinguished face. He wore a gray turtleneck and a sharkskin jacket, a red baseball cap turned backward, and a silver necklace made to look like barbed wire. I saw that his fingers were loaded with heavy gold rings.

“So good to see you, Nancy,” she said, giving me a hug. “This is Rufus Le Crous, the art collector and critic. He just wrote a piece about the latest opening at the River Heights Museum of Fine Arts for the Times. Rufus, meet my friend Nancy Drew. She’s River Heights’s resident detective.”

“Hello, Mr. Le Crous,” I said.

Rufus touched his fingers together and made a triangle with his hands. His frown deepened, and his sleepy eyes nearly closed. “Hello, little sleuth,” he finally said in a deep voice.

“I’m not little,” I said, “but it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Le Crous.”

“Then perhaps you’ll solve a mystery for me.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But first you have to tell me what the mystery is.”

“Find out where the Duchess stashed the only worthwhile pieces in her measly collection.”

“Oh, Rufus, I don’t think that’s something Nancy should bother with,” Susan interjected. Turning to me, she said, “Rufus has a special interest in the work of D. Shammas. He came specifically to see the paintings in the Duchess’s collection. He’s rather upset that they aren’t on display tonight. I told him the Duchess has a right to decide which pieces to share with us. After all, it’s been ten years since she showed anything at all. But he’s refusing to listen. Although he did come a long way to be here tonight.”

Rufus Le Crous exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. “Four hours in rush-hour traffic.”

“Did you hear that a piece in the Duchess’s collection was stolen last week?” I asked him. “A statue of the Roman goddess Diana disappeared during the grand opening of Angelica Velvet’s new art gallery. Maybe the Duchess couldn’t bear to lose another of her pieces to the same thief who stole her statue, and that’s why she isn’t showing the Shammas paintings.”

“That would explain the extra security tonight,” said Susan.

“The Duchess has delusions of persecution. And delusions of grandeur,” said Le Crous, gesturing at the granite throne. “Peggy Guggenheim had a throne just like this at her palace in Venice. The Duchess’s is a poor imitation.”

“Surely it’s not delusional for the Duchess to think her art might be in danger. After all, someone stole her statue in broad daylight in a crowded gallery just a few days ago,” I said.

“I am aware of the theft of that Diana statue. It was a trifle. A child’s toy,” said Le Crous dismissively.