Arthur tumbled down the marble stairways of his Ludwig-inspired Roastlochen Estates.
In the dim light of floating shadows, that of the Angels of Mercy, bathed a time Art plowed through the ominous snow outside the Roastlochen Gates, following a horrendous expendition to the shores of Tahiti, when a nearby resident, an ailing man by the name of Johannes Geldstadt, beckoned him to seek the shelter of his studio apartment from the blizzard that stifled Art's intended park walk to the Dumbarton Oaks.
Arthur entered the warm studio of Geldstadt and promptly fell in love with the fireplace.
As Johannes sat about scraping the paint off his pants, Art glimpsed the glaring pillars of a rat-infested Cathedral on a freshly painted canvas. Being somewhat ignorant of art and God, Art muttered compliments of a Wagnerian sort.
"This surely is not the famous cathedral in Seville, the heart of imperial Spain?"
Johannes, the frail man, swung around and in a despicable gurgle mumbed, "Nein, not the one where Columbus been buried for half a thousand years."
Poor Arthur shuddered with disbelief, conjuring the blazing fire of doom, as Johannes went on to put his painter's garb, Art was but to scream his lungs out just as Johannes, his soothing eyes, rose to melt the terror that held in Art the sacrifice of an innocent lamb.
Johannes dropped a weak smile and went about to ransack a wooden drawer.
He pulled out some dusty contracts and asked Art to sign it.
Arthur, too petrified to decline, complied. He even dated the document.
"I beg you to take good care of my Van Goghs but never let greed get in the way of the trust I now vouch to hold in you for life. Otherwise, let me warn you young man, I'll be back to choke you."
Going through another wooden drawer, Johannes pulls out a Luger and drops an antique fountain pen at Art's feet.
"That pen doesn't work but it's worth its weight in gold."
Before Arthur gets a chance to retrieve the pen that shines of pure gold, Johannes grabs hold of the family gun and stepping real close to Art, screams madly, "Bless my union with thy immortal God."
Art backs off in disgust as chunks of brain tissue smatter his wet trenchcoat and promptly staked his claim to a property that once belonged to Abraham Lincoln.
