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“You’re sure?”

There was a slight snort from her assistant, amused anyone would question her patron.

Dr. Louissaint stared at Gamache, but he just waited. A glare was not a reply. He needed the words.

“Yes, the nails are hand-forged and date from the era of the original Paston Treasure, the mid-1600s.” She widened her eyes, as if to say, Heard enough?

“Merci.”

“Is this”—Dr. Louissaint tilted her head toward the canvas on the floor—“part of an investigation, Chief Inspector?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure.”

This admission of doubt seemed to impress her.

“Your colleague, Inspector Beauvoir, was it?” When Gamache agreed, she continued, “Told me a little. Enough for me to bring some equipment and—” She pointed to the young woman now setting up what looked like a scanner. “Maryse.”

“Bonjour,” said Gamache.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” said Maryse, then went back to work.

Dr. Louissaint turned to Gamache. “I’ve seen copies of The Paston Treasure. And photographs. Read books on it. I even visited it in the UK.” She spoke of the painting as though it were a person. “It’s a masterpiece, one of the most studied works of art, and yet”—she leaned closer to the copy—“it remains a mystery.”

“How so?”

“It was painted in the great age of exploration, when ships and merchants were pushing the boundaries of the known world and bringing back their finds. The Pastons gathered a huge collection and then commissioned someone to paint at least part of it. But how did they decide which of the two hundred pieces would be in the painting? Why so much emphasis on music? On time? The hourglass, the timepiece, the clock. Does it say six o’clock or half past eleven? Is the time significant?”

“We studied the painting in art college,” said Maryse, piping in. “Partly as a work of art.”

“But also art history?” suggested Gamache.

“Not just that, but history itself. And natural sciences, and geography. It’s described as a portal into the past.”

He could hear the young woman’s excitement as she talked about the original.

“And yet, it left so much of itself unknown,” said Dr. Louissaint. “Including who even painted it. Must’ve taken months and months, and then not to sign it? Why? I see yours isn’t signed either.”

“No, that would be too easy.”

She smiled, then bent closer to the painting. “Do you mind if I take some samples?”

Gamache gave them both gloves and watched as the conservator, on hands and knees, scraped a corner. Then she put on headgear, like jewelers wore, and moved farther along. Examining closely. Closely. Maryse turned on the scanner and moved it back and forth across the work.

After a few minutes, Dr. Louissaint rose, shoved the magnifying glasses up onto her head, and went over to the monitor.

“This isn’t a copy.”

“If it’s not a copy,” asked Gamache, “what is it?”

He joined them by the screen, where a ghostly image of the original Paston Treasure appeared.

“A paint-by-number.”

Gamache gave a small grunt of amusement. “A local artist, Clara Morrow, said the same thing. Thought it must be that. Not a real paint-by-number, of course, but the same idea.”

“Clara Morrow lives here?” said the Chief Conservator and her assistant, as one. Both sounded like teenage girls being told their favorite actor was next door.

“She does.”