Читать книгу Murder in the Bookshop - Carolyn Wells - Страница 11

FLEMING STONE arrived at half-past twelve.

Alli was somewhat surprised at his appearance. She saw a quiet, rather scholarly looking man, with a sympathetic face and correct manners.

He spoke first to Sewell, shaking his hand and saying, ‘Hello, old chap,’ and then, as Sewell presented him to Alli, he expressed so courteously his appreciation of her tragic sorrow that she liked him at once.

Keith Ramsay, too, felt quick confidence in the newcomer and after a few preliminary words Stone turned to the business in hand.

‘Am I to understand,’ he began, ‘that my activities are to include two crimes, or only one?’

‘I couldn’t make it very clear over the telephone,’ Sewell told him, ‘but there are two distinct matters to come to your attention which may be interdependent or may not. My part in the matter is of an exceedingly confidential nature, involving, as it does, the disappearance of a rare and valuable book. Mrs Balfour’s case concerns a much more serious crime, the killing of her husband.’

‘Let me make a suggestion,’ Alli offered, ‘there is a room to which I think we might better adjourn. It is a small room, one that Mr Balfour had made sound-proof in order that he might negotiate for valuable books without fear of being overheard.’

‘Yes,’ said Sewell, ‘let us go there. I know that room.’

So they went to the little room in question and found it comfortable and pleasant, with the added advantage of sound-proof walls.

‘We are keeping nothing back from the police,’ Ramsay said, ‘but we don’t want their men who are still here to get information ahead of time.’

The room they were now in was simply furnished with a table and writing materials, a small safe and a few chairs.

They told their stories in turn, Ramsay first, as he was with Philip Balfour during his last hours; Sewell next, as coming in later, and Alli last, as knowing nothing of it all until they brought her the awful news.

Fleming Stone listened attentively, making a few notes now and then.

Finally he said: ‘I want to know all about this valuable book. It looks as if that might have brought about the murder, though I don’t, as yet, see just how. What is the book, Sewell?’

‘I’ll tell you. Remember it must not be mentioned in any way, or to anybody, without my knowledge and sanction. You’ve heard of Button Gwinnett?’

‘Yes,’ Stone said. ‘He was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.’

‘Exactly that. And he is one of two whose autographs are the most difficult to find. Many collectors, you know, strive to get a full set of autographs of the signers, but nearly all of them are unable to achieve the rare one of Gwinnett. His simple signature has sold for more than fifty thousand dollars, and a book that he had owned and had autographed and had annotated would easily be worth twice that. Now, I have obtained such a book. I got it through one of my London agents. Gwinnett was an Englishman who came over here to live, entered into our politics and became a signer of the Declaration. The next year he was killed in a duel—he was a hot-headed chap—and lived in Georgia.’

‘And what is the book?’ Stone asked.

‘It’s a small book, a pamphlet, but in fine condition. It is entitled Taxation Laws of Great Britain and U.S.A. Gwinnett was a student of Government and Politics and this was his book. He had not only autographed it on the fly-leaf but had signed it two other times and, moreover, had made annotations in his own hand on various pages. So you can grasp the importance of the book. Such finds do occur, but very seldom. Mr Balfour was prepared to pay a large price, although he and I hadn’t entirely agreed yet as to exact terms.’

‘And this book, worth a fortune in itself, is now your property, Mrs Balfour?’

‘If the purchase is completed,’ Alli said, looking uncertain. ‘Mr Balfour’s will is in his lawyer’s keeping, and I only know that he told me the library would be mine at his death. So I assume that is the case. The question of my buying that expensive book, now, is between Mr Sewell and myself; of course I cannot decide right away.’

‘Of course not,’ Stone agreed. ‘But, now, Sewell, where is the book?’

‘I’ll answer that question,’ Ramsay announced. ‘I have it.’

‘You have it?’ Sewell exclaimed, in amazement. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I am. You see, it was this way. Mr Balfour and I went to the bookshop to hunt for two small volumes belonging to Mr Balfour that were unaccountably missing. Sewell wasn’t there and Mr Balfour didn’t want him to be, for he feared the books had been stolen by Mr Gill. He decided on a still hunt so we went in by the window. As we were searching, I came across the Gwinnett book inside another book. This is a common dodge. We all have apparent books on our shelves, which are really only book covers and into which we tuck a rare or a precious book, as a hiding-place. Now, when I spied the Gwinnett book, inside the cover of a detective story, I slipped it in my pocket for the simple reason that I knew if Mr Balfour saw it, he would immediately forget all about the books he was looking for and lose himself in the new treasure. I wanted him to continue his search, and, when he was ready, to go home and show him the Gwinnett book there, where he could examine it and enjoy it at his leisure and in safety. I felt a little afraid of opening it down there, for the light might attract a policeman, or an intruder of another sort. It is a smallish book and I slipped it in my overcoat pocket.’

‘And where is it, now?’ Sewell asked, looking at Ramsay in an odd way.

‘Since I came home, I went in the library and placed it in one of Mr Balfour’s trick books. It is concealed in the fourth volume of Gibbon’s Rome, a book which looks just like the other volumes, but is hollow.’

‘Go and get it, Ramsay,’ and Sewell looked disturbed.

‘No, you go; or Mr Stone. If this must be told to the police, they will probably suspect me of something—I don’t know what, but they’re just crazy to make me out a villain.’

‘I’ll go,’ Sewell said, and left the room.

‘You both must be rather familiar with rare books,’ Stone said, looking at Balfour’s wife and librarian.

‘Mr Ramsay is,’ Alli said, ‘but I have only a smattering. My husband told me a lot about them but I forget most of it. It is imperative, Keith, that you stay here long enough to get the library sold; I can’t have the responsibility of such a valuable affair. As to this new book, I shall probably buy it as Mr Balfour really ordered it. And it will add just that much to the value of the lot.’

Sewell returned with a small book, carefully wrapped in paper, sealed, and labelled, with a pen, Taxation Laws of Great Britain and U.S.A.

He closed the door carefully, and locked it.

‘Lucky we have this safe room,’ he said, sitting down at the table—to which they all drew up their chairs. ‘A book like this must be handled as privately as a Kohinoor. Here is the little volume that Keith brought home, and hid in a volume of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Now, Mr Ramsay, as it happens, this is not the book Mr Balfour wanted at all.’

‘What nonsense are you talking?’ Keith asked. ‘It’s labelled.’

‘I know, but it’s a fake package. I made it up myself.’

Sewell took off the paper wrapping, disclosing an inner one of cellophane. It was his habit to do up rare books this way.

But as he removed the wrappings and came to the little book itself, it proved to be a small but thick catalogue of rare books from a London firm.

Ramsay stared and so did the others.

‘I did this up like this,’ Sewell went on, ‘to fool anybody who might endeavour to annex this big find of mine. It’s all very well to say no one knows of it, but there is a grapevine telegraph among dealers that sometimes works havoc with secrets. Anyway, as you see, that is a dummy parcel, and most naturally fooled Ramsay, when he saw it.’

‘Of course,’ Stone assented. ‘Now, Sewell, where is your real book?’

‘That’s the trouble. I had that hidden in a pile of old junk, in a closet. It was in among a lot of old newspapers and magazines, for I thought it was better to conceal it thus than to put it in my safe. But it is gone, and unless Ramsay brought that along, too, I don’t know where it is.’

‘I did not find that,’ Ramsay declared, ‘but I’ll prophesy this: when Captain Burnet hears of this, he’ll say I’m the thief. You see, as I was found on the spot, and as I have no way to prove my innocence, they’re ready to nab me for anything.’

‘They shan’t do it, Keith!’ and Alli looked militant. ‘Mr Stone, you will straighten it all out, won’t you? Mr Ramsay was in the full confidence of my husband, he was also Mr Balfour’s friend and advisor. He is incapable of crime—as your friend, Mr Sewell, will tell you!’

‘I stand by Ramsay,’ Sewell said, seriously. ‘I, too, feel that he is incapable of the grave crimes that have been committed tonight. But the book is still missing and though of minor importance when we think of Mr Balfour’s death, yet I hope, Stone, you can solve both mysteries.’

‘Now, for the usual questions,’ Stone said. ‘Had Mr Balfour any known enemies?’

‘No,’ said Balfour’s wife. ‘Unless they were some of his book-collecting friends or acquaintances. Otherwise, he was a most affable and genial man, making friends rather than enemies.’

‘That is true in the main,’ said Ramsay, hesitatingly; ‘but it should be recognized that there were men who could not be definitely called enemies, but who were most certainly not good friends. Mr Balfour was a just man but a very positive one; if he formed an opinion, he would stick to it, even in the face of proof to the contrary. This caused ructions sometimes, and though I can’t think he had an enemy who would go so far as to kill him, he certainly did have antagonists. And I can understand a man murdering him to get possession of the Gwinnett book. You see, often a hobby will so possess a man, that he loses all sense of right and wrong in the pursuit of his craze. Do you not think, Mr Stone, that a desperate desire for that book could lead a rabid collector to theft, and—perhaps to murder?’

‘It might be so, Mr Ramsay. I say, Sewell, what’s the thief going to do with that book? If he offers it for sale he’ll have to tell the history of it, won’t he? And once you hear of it, or the man who sold it to you hears of it, the thief must be caught. Or are there “fences” who buy rare books same as they buy pearls or precious stones?’

‘No,’ Sewell said, ‘it can’t be sold; all the book dealers on earth would be up in arms to know all about it. And the thief would be discovered pronto.’

‘Then this is how it stands, it seems to me,’ and Stone looked positive, ‘it is a kidnapped book. Whoever took it will soon ask ransom money. It is not quite like kidnapping a human being, but it would be similar. The thief will doubtless ask you to deal with him directly and not through the police. He will dictate how to send him the money. Then, if you don’t comply, he will send you a leaf torn out to prove that he really has it. He will tell you that unless you come across he will tear out the signatures and send you a few odd scraps of them, saying he has destroyed the other fragments. For unless he can sell it, and preserve his own safety, he can do nothing with it. Unless he could sell the autographs singly and without context.’

‘He might do that,’ said Sewell, thoughtfully; ‘but you frighten me with your suggestions. I would pay a good round sum to get the book back, but not its full value, of course.’

‘It seems as if you’ll have to wait to hear from your kidnappers,’ Stone said; ‘and I’ll not be surprised, now, to learn that the two crimes are connected.’

‘But,’ Ramsay objected, ‘the criminal, whoever he was, came to Mr Sewell’s shop tonight either to kill Mr Balfour or to steal that book. It isn’t likely he came to do both—if he did do both. When he came in I had already put what I thought was the real book in my pocket. It is my opinion that the intruder knocked Mr Balfour down first, because Mr Balfour recognized him. He then chloroformed me in order to kill Mr Balfour and make his getaway unseen, knowing I would stay unconscious for ten to twenty minutes. That argues he wanted to kill Mr Balfour, but had no wish to kill me.’

‘All true, Mr Ramsay,’ Stone agreed, ‘but it would be a lot better if you had a witness for all this.’

‘Don’t I know that?’ exclaimed Keith. ‘Don’t I know no one will believe my story, because it is such an easy one to make up? But look at it this way, Mr Stone. If I wanted to kill Mr Balfour, would it be reasonable for me to get him over to Mr Sewell’s shop, and kill him there? With the light on, with the policeman on the beat liable to look in at any minute, with Mr Sewell or Mr Gill likely to come in—I’d be a fool to arrange such a setting! And why would I kill him? I expected to leave him and I had told him so several times, but my going had nothing whatever to do with him. He has always been most kind and considerate in his manner to me. He liked my work and told me so, repeatedly. He offered me increased salary and tried every way he could think of to induce me to stay. What motive could I have to kill a man like that? I did not kill him and I did not steal the book. This dummy I brought home was an innocent gesture and I did it only because I thought it wiser for Mr Balfour to be at home before he began to examine it. The acquisition of that book was an event, and it was better it should occur here than over at Mr Sewell’s.’

‘Please tell me a little more definitely, Mr Ramsay,’ Stone said, ‘just why you were planning to leave Mr Balfour?’

‘I have told you—on business of my own. It has no reference to Mr Balfour in any way. It is an enterprise of my own, that I may put over in London, and I may not. From the very nature of the business, it must be kept secret and confidential until preliminary terms are arranged. This cannot be done without my presence in London, and cannot be made public at this time. If I am held on suspicion of being instrumental in the death of my employer, I shall have to stay here, of course. Also, if Mrs Balfour wishes to engage my services in the matter of settling up some library business, in which several important purchases are in process of adjustment, I will stay for a time, until such matters can be looked over and put in proper form for my successor.’

‘I do want you to stay, Mr Ramsay, at least for a time, until I find a satisfactory successor—if you feel you must go.’ Alli spoke in a casual tone, but Fleming Stone’s trained vision caught the merest glance of understanding that flashed between her and the librarian.

He sensed at once that there were undercurrents and side issues to this case that he had not looked for. If Ramsay and Mrs Balfour were in love with one another, that altered the whole situation.

‘I am quite willing to pay a higher salary than Mr Balfour was paying, but I cannot carry on the library without expert assistance,’ Alli went on. ‘I do not want Guy Balfour to take it in charge, for with the best intentions he would, in his ignorance, make grave errors. I hope Mr Ramsay will consent to remain and that he can take up his London business later.’

‘I fear I cannot decide that question tonight,’ Ramsay said, thoughtfully.

‘Nor do I want to,’ Alli said. ‘It may be that the library is not to be mine, after all. Perhaps it is left entirely to Guy. And, now he is one of the household, he will doubtless take over such duties and privileges as he is entitled to. I am not sure I shall remain in this large apartment, nor do I think Guy would want to run it alone. But all those questions are unimportant. The thing is, Mr Stone, to discover who killed my husband and where is his valuable book.’

‘Quite right, Mrs Balfour. And those matters cannot be taken up until morning. I shall have to ask some routine questions, of course. Will you detail briefly what you did during the early evening?’

‘Surely. After dinner, Mr Balfour said he and Mr Ramsay were going out on an errand, but would be back early. They left here about ten.’

‘Did you know where they were going?’

‘I knew they were going to Mr Sewell’s shop, but I did not know they meant to go in by the window.’

‘Then, were you here alone?’

‘Mr Sewell came, and Mr Swinton came, he is a man who lives in this house—oh, yes, and Mr Wiley came—he lives in this house too. They all came to see Mr Balfour, of course, and each stayed a few moments to talk to me.’

‘Now, Mrs Balfour,’ and Stone gave her one of his pleasing smiles, ‘this is the first I have heard of any definite time or times regarding the events of the evening. Please straighten out these callers, won’t you? Which came first?’

‘Mr Swinton came first. He came very soon after Mr Balfour left. He is a man who lives down on the second floor, a book-collector in a small way. He is everlastingly bringing a book for Mr Balfour or Mr Ramsay to pass judgment on. Tonight, he had a copy of Omar Khayyám, which he thought was a great find. He was vexed to find Mr Balfour not at home, and he stayed a few moments, looking at some of the books in the library.’

‘At what time did he come?’

‘It was quarter past ten when I came into the reception room, where he was waiting for me. I was tempted not to see him, for he is a bore, but Mr Balfour was always courteous to him and liked to have me nice to his friends. Well, then Mr Sewell came in—he, too, wanted to see Mr Balfour.’

‘I sure did,’ Sewell declared. ‘I didn’t bring the book with me as I didn’t come direct from the shop. But I wanted to tell him I had it and see his pleasure at the information.’

‘What time was this?’

‘I don’t know, Stone, I never know the time.’

‘It must have been less than half-past ten,’ Alli said, ‘for it was very soon after Mr Swinton arrived. I had just time to tell him Mr Balfour was not at home. I gave him permission to go in the library to look at the Omar Khayyáms in our collection and then Mr Sewell came. He was here maybe ten minutes or less, when there was a telephone call for him and he went away.’

‘The telephone from your place, Sewell?’

‘Yes, Ramsay calling. I left at once, and went right down to my shop. You can check up times by the police. They came in just as I did.’

‘Yes,’ Stone agreed, ‘that will be all right. Mrs Balfour, I think you said you had another caller, also a tenant of this house?’

‘I did. Pretty soon after Mr Sewell went away Mr Swinton left. He said he would come again to see Mr Balfour about his book. As I thought likely Mr Balfour and Mr Ramsay would stay at Mr Sewell’s, talking over books in general, and as it was about eleven, I concluded to go to bed. I was just about to ring for my maid when Potter announced Mr Wiley.’

‘Pete Wiley?’ asked Sewell, seeming astonished.

‘Yes; he, too, lives in this house and he sometimes consults Mr Balfour. But he is of the know-it-all type. I’ve heard him tell my husband that he was wrong on subjects to which he had given years of research!’

‘This annoyed Mr Balfour?’

‘Not at all. Had the man been his equal in booklore, he would have resented it, but he never would deign to argue with an ignoramus.’

‘Better steer clear of Pete Wiley, Stone,’ John Sewell informed him. ‘He’s one of those men who will build up a quarrel on the merest difference of opinion. He bothered the life out of Mr Balfour and Ramsay here. He pestered me until I told him what I thought of him. He doesn’t know a holograph from a hole in the wall but he sets up as an expert. If you have the pleasure of talking to him don’t mention the Gwinnett book. In fact, don’t mention it to anyone until we know where we stand. Mrs Balfour, please don’t tell of it, either. Ramsay, I know, will keep the secret. I don’t want it talked about until I have talked with Mr Balfour’s lawyer and his executors.’

‘Of course,’ Stone told him, ‘we’ll all agree to that. What about young Balfour?’

‘I think we can’t tell you that,’ Ramsay said, ‘until we know clearly how matters stand. He may be my employer, you know. And, if so, he may dismiss me.’

‘This conference must draw to a close,’ Stone said, emphatically. ‘Mrs Balfour has had quite enough nervous excitement for one evening. And tomorrow, Mrs Balfour, I suppose it will be difficult for me to see you. You will be occupied with plans and arrangements and conferences with your lawyers and other advisors, to say nothing of the demands the police may make on your time.’

‘Yes, Mr Stone, but if you will take this case in hand, I will make it a point to be ready to see you whenever you desire. Whatever the exact terms of Mr Balfour’s will, I shall have large responsibilities and much necessary conference with lawyers, also many questions to take up with my stepson.’

‘Is Mr Guy Balfour interested in rare books?’ Stone asked.

‘Only in so far as they have a money value. His father often gave him important volumes. Some he sold at once, some he has kept. I foresee no trouble with him for he is an amiable sort and I am quite willing to cede him all his legal rights.’

‘You are generous, Mrs Balfour. I shall see you again after I have learned more of the police reports. I shall devote my time alternately to the question of the theft of the book and the killing of Mr Balfour. At this moment they seem to me to be more or less connected, but I may be mistaken about that. Rest assured, I shall do my best in every particular and report to you whenever it seems advisable.’

‘Thank you, Mr Stone,’ and Alli spoke appreciatively, but she showed a seeming despondency that had not before been noticeable. ‘You may, of course, go in and out of this apartment as you wish. You may have a key, if you like; indeed, if it would better suit your work, you may have a room here. We have innumerable empty rooms.’

‘Thank you very much, but I prefer to stay in my own home when possible. I live down in the East Thirties, and if I need a key, I will ask for it. Tell me, Mrs Balfour, did your husband attend auctions of rare books?’

‘Never. Such purchases as he wanted to make from an auction sale, he instructed Mr Ramsay to look after, or put them in charge of Mr Sewell. He had no liking to mingle with humanity and almost never went into a shop.’

‘Yes, he was queer that way,’ Sewell agreed. ‘He often came to my shop, but more as a club than a shop. Several of our mutual friends would drop in there of an evening, and we would have talks that wouldn’t disgrace the old Mermaid Tavern. Well, Stone, shall we get along? I suppose we’ll all be expected here in the morning. Good night, Mrs Balfour, good night, Ramsay.’

Stone drew his hostess a little aside, and whispered, ‘Watch your step with young Guy. Don’t cede him anything without legal advice.’

And then, with kindly good nights, he went away.

In the safety of the sound-proof room, Keith Ramsay took Alli in his arms.