The Historical Castle Mob

In the cool, early hours one morning last week, two cars pulled up to a little-used gate at the Duc de Luynes's 8,000-acre estate near Paris. A few blows of a hammer knocked away the rusty padlock; shadowy figures slipped inside, made a beeline for a cellar window in the 17th century chateau, got it open, and climbed through.

Upstairs, they opened more windows as escape hatches behind them, passed by portraits by Van Dyck, paintings by Poussin, frescoes by Ingres. Into the tiny chapel they went, and headed directly for the altar, where two pictures hung: on the right, a small (28 in. by 35 in.) Infant Jesus, believed to be a Rubens; on the left, Angel Playing Violoncello, attributed to Raphael. Down came the paintings, frames and all. From concealed drawers the thieves took finely wrought vestments and a gold wafer dish. Then out they went, as silently as they had come. Paris newspapers estimated their choosy haul at 50 to 60 million francs ($142,860 to $171,430). His missing pictures were not insured, but the Duc de Luynes took it with a shrug. Said he: "What a bore! Just as I was planning to take off for South America."

Police, left without any solid clues, blamed it all on "Le gang des chateaux historiques" (the Historical Castle Mob). Fifty-six chateaux have been robbed since 1946, and none of the loot recovered. French police have a wholesome respect for "le gang's" professionalism in burglary and taste in art objects. They believe that many wealthy art collectors all over the world may have unwittingly purchased the stolen stuff.

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