There is in the London Museum of the Arts a painting that is supplied by no name or title, and out of which no subscriber has made himself known. Many curious guests at this royal and grandiose gallery have found themselves swiftly disappointed to see this mysterious absence of a title for what looks like an ordinary, habitual oil portrait of a venerable gentleman no more esteemed in aspects than his neighbours. As to the true story of this painting and of the character framed therein, which subsequently has been derived of explanation as much link as to the mystery of the name, beckons many a-spectator to wonder where it came from and who it is that deserved such a tribute; it is as though it appeared one day and has never been moved from its place. Some say it is the unsolved mystery that brings people far and wide to see the nameless portrait.

The uncanny arrival of this painting was a consequently curious epiphany for it offered even more questions than it did answer. It was discovered in London under the strange circumstance of the refurbishment of an old house on Willingham Street; when on a broad area above the fireplace in a spacious ground-floor room the newly-settled inhabitants remarked the surface of the paint's altered habits, and when brought out by peeling the subsequent result was hideously darker than any ordinary paint or the wood beneath it was likely to have been. A few careful tests by knife subsequently made known a pair of eyes behind the wall; they restrained themselves upon impeding further as they did not want to risk the damage which an immediate attempt to uncover the treasure that the knife might have done, and called upon expert help. Answering this call was an artist of long experience, Mr. Ernest C. Hammond, whose studio was near the banks of Port Scarlet; the accomplished restorer of paintings began work at once with the proper instruments, methods and alchemy. From what started as a simple peeling by knife suddenly became somewhat of an archeological excavation; for a week's worth of process granting the current family no peace from this sudden invasion, and they knew they had come upon an oil painting of exceptional mystery. Mr. and Mrs. Brown were both duly excited over their strange visitors, and were properly reimbursed for this invasion of their domestic hearth.

As day by day the work of restoration developed, the esteemed Browns looked on with growing interest at the lines and shades gradually brought out after their long stupor. Hammond had begun at the bottom; and since the picture was a three-quarter length one the painting stayed faceless for some time. It was heretofore seen that the framed subject was a spare, well-kempt man of fashion unique to a very certain time and has hitherto been forgotten; white, silk-woven stockings terminating in a fine pair of buckled leather shoes with red ribbons at the front, black satin breeches, the figure seemed seated in an antique chair. When the upper torso came out it was revealed that this character was of exceptional nobility as he issued himself in a fashion of a bright green coat with puffy collars at both his neck and out from the sleeves this tangle of detail became excessive to shade to the painter; the identity of this character was heavily debated amongst observers to hold such an exultant title yet unknown to all. At last the face came out it was observed to wear a neat powdered wig, and to possess a thin, cryptical, and undistinguished face which seemed to bear an element of paleness which gave rise to large, paranoid eyes that had a sort of strange tendency to follow the watcher as they moved about the room. Adjacent to this seated figure was a window overlooking what seemed to be a scenic view of Blackwell from an unfamiliar period that was not familiar to them, and somewhat influenced by war; but to a local dweller of the past this enigma was curiously confronted somewhere during the English Civil War.

The painting was at last restored and beautifully so; and in 1878, certain curators at the Blackwell Museum of the Arts had been informed of the find and could be seen visiting this house one night and were willing to relieve the present owners of the painting to a place more befitting its nature and to commemorate it as part of Blackwell's history. The curators and collectors, however, were oddly curious at the family's eagerness to be rid of the painting and made no suggestion to keep it any longer.

And there it has stayed ever since – nameless, untitled and laden with mystery – until in 1881, three years after recovery the picture at last emerged out of a cloud of enigma when an avid antiquarian had searched long and hard to find the name which had been hidden for so long. This deep-delving scholar of the old world, Mr. J. P. Ward, believed he had discovered an exceedingly singular and key thread of information from a variety of sources dating back to the 17th and 18th century, that the strange character gleamed in the painting was a man who bore the name Octavius Cawthrone; gentleman and merchant. As one lead of terrible truth was at last gleaned from those ancient documents, journals and family records, so began a curious sequel of information starting in a chain of flourishment which mere sanity could not shield. The discovery of this name alone and the links it shared with the painting excited him greatly, for he had been the first person, beating the incredible scholars at the museum, to unearth the names and scattered allusions relating to this person; about whom there remained so few publicly available records, aside from those becoming public in modern times, that it almost seemed as though there had been a conspiracy to entirely erase him from history. That which did emerge out of the frightful research, moreover, was of such a singular and provocative nature that one could only guess what made the renaissance recorders so anxious and desperate to conceal or forget.