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