Bibb frowned. “I’m a collector, not a speculator. A book like that is priceless to me.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?”
“Ms. Ciccone, the world of rare book collectors, especially those who buy and sell items of this caliber, is relatively circumscribed and, shall we say, incestuous. It would be foolhardy for one of them to purloin it. Besides, I’m a leading expert in this field. I’m a contributing editor of the Journal of the International Antiquarian Society. I receive all the newsletters and catalogues and attend most of the auctions. If anyone attempted to resell it, at least in a lawful manner, I’d be sure to find out about it.”
“What if, like you, the thief didn’t want to sell the book but just wanted it for its intrinsic value and beauty?”
Professor Bibb’s shaggy eyebrows twitched and then relaxed. He looked down his bulbous nose at Caitlin and chuckled.
“So I’m a suspect? I’m honored, Ms. Ciccone. Yes,” he added with a devious glint in his eye, “if I were you, I’d put me right at the top of your list. My qualifications are impeccable: I’m a bibliophile. I’m one of the executors. My lifestyle appears to be opulent. I was friends with Edward Anthony Prospero.”
“So do you think,” Caitlin cut in, “there could be a valuable document that might have motivated the attacks?”
“Do you think,” Bibb asked in response, “I’d be chatting over tea with you if I thought there was some exceptional treasure for the taking at Tillinghast Library?”
Before Caitlin could answer the question, the professor stood and shuffled over to an escritoire in the corner of the living room. He opened a drawer, removed a manila envelope, and returned to his seat. “Here’s a preliminary list of the contents of the Prospero collection,” he said. “Peruse it at your leisure. I doubt you’ll find any surprises.”
Caitlin set down her cup and took the envelope. “Who compiled this list?”
“I did,” Bibb said with a complacent smile.
Chapter 20
Words, Words, Srdow
After finishing dinner at seven o’clock, Caitlin, Phil, and Leo went up to Leo’s room to try to decipher the first clue in Prospero’s letter. By nine-thirty, after much speculation and virtually no progress, the two freshmen were ready to abandon the whole business.
Languid and sluggish after a long day of difficult classes, Phil sprawled apathetically on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes. He thought about his essay for Professor Torres’s English 112. It was Tuesday night, the paper was due Friday, and he still had neither a rudimentary understanding of Dickinson’s poem nor the slightest notion of how he could manage to write something articulate and coherent about it. Fatigue had wrapped him in a soft shroud of stupefaction.
Caitlin, on the other hand, resolved to get something worthwhile accomplished. She stretched out on the carpet, stuck a cushion under her head, and began reading a chapter in one of her textbooks.
Leo continued to sit quietly in his armchair by the window, perusing the books on cryptography that Phil had brought him and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.
After several minutes of silence, Phil lifted his arm and looked at Caitlin.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Words, words, words.”
Phil looked puzzled.
“It’s from Hamlet,” she explained.
“You’re reading Hamlet?”
“No, the quotation’s from Hamlet.”
“No, it’s not from Hamlet,” Leo mumbled from his chair in the corner. “It’s from something else.”
“It most certainly is from Hamlet,” Caitlin said.
“What is?” asked Phil.
“What I just said.”
“What did you just say?”
“‘Words, words, words,’” Caitlin said.
Phil frowned. “What about ‘words, words, words’?”
“It’s a quotation from Hamlet!”
“No, I think it’s from another play by Shakespeare,” Leo said, his attention still fixed on his notes.
“Which play?” Phil asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Leo said.
“It is too from Hamlet,” Caitlin said. “Polonius thinks Hamlet may be insane, so he tries to have a rational conversation with him to find out. But when he sees Hamlet with a book and asks what he’s reading, Hamlet, who’s being sullen and intractable, just says, ‘Words, words, words.’”
“That’s right,” Leo said, scribbling another note on his pad. “You must know the play well, Caitlin.”
“Well enough,” Caitlin said, exasperated.
“So you’re reading Hamlet for an English class?” Phil asked.
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “No, I was quoting from it.”
“Yes, I know you were,” Leo said.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Caitlin shouted.
“Let me get this straight,” Phil said. “You’re not actually reading Hamlet. You’re reading something else?”
Caitlin groaned. “Right.”
“I see,” Phil said.
“But when I quoted from Hamlet, Leo said the line was from something else by Shakespeare.”
“I didn’t say that,” Leo said.
“Oh yes you did!” Caitlin insisted. “You said ‘words, words, words’ was from some other play by Shakespeare!”
“I think you did, Leo,” Phil said.
“No I didn’t,” Leo asserted.
“Yes you did!” cried Caitlin.
Leo slapped his pencil down on his notepad and looked up. “Look, I know that line’s from Hamlet, but I wasn’t talking about Hamlet. I was referring to this complex doggone cipher I’m trying to figure out!”
“Oh,” said Caitlin.
“Which seems to be a quotation from another Shakespearean play,” Leo said.
“I see,” said Phil.
“Sorry,” Caitlin said. “I guess I wasn’t following your train of thought.”
Leo grunted and turned his attention back to his notes.
There was an awkward pause.
Finally Phil said, “So, what are you reading, Caitlin?”
Caitlin grimaced. “Something for my psychology class. It’s called Principles of Human Communication.”
“I did it!” Leo cried half an hour later. He set down his notepad and pencil, closed his book, and released a deep sigh. “I finally deciphered the first clue.”
Phil, who had succumbed to the soporific effect of a soft couch, was deep in the grip of a catnap.
Caitlin snapped her book shut. “You’re kidding! That’s great!” She got to her feet and shook Phil. “Phil, wake up! Leo’s figured out the clue.”
Phil sat up slowly and looked at them through bleary eyes. “Sorry guys. I’m feeling a bit scatterbrained. It was kind of a rough day.”
Caitlin sat down on the couch next to Phil. “C’mon, Leo. Don’t keep us in suspense. What did you find out?”
“Well, for one thing, that Prospero sure was a master of obfuscation. The clue turned out to be a transposition cipher. It’s two quotations from Shakespeare.”
“Shakespeare again?” Phil said, stifling a yawn.
“What’s a transposition cipher?” Caitlin asked.
“Two of the most common methods for writing secret messages are the substitution cipher and the transposition cipher,” Leo explained. “In the substitution cipher, one letter—or number or symbol—stands for another. For example, x might stand for e, 8 for a, the plus sign for o. It’s arbitrary—whatever the person writing the code decides. In a transposition cipher, the letters of the message are arranged into groups of the same number of letters, then the letters in each group are jumbled according to a formula—first letter last, last letter second, fourth letter third, whatever. Of course, there are a great many possible jumbling formulas, which makes it difficult to decode.”
“How’d you manage to figure it out?” asked Phil. He was feeling
more awake now, and his curiosity was piqued.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Leo said, picking up his yellow notepad and motioning for Phil and Caitlin to join him. When they had positioned themselves on either side of his armchair, Leo pointed to three rows of gibberish:
HLTLA LORWE TASSD NEAGA TLLAD
NMEEH ODWNA ENMEM PLYER RYEALS.
NMIAI FISHT TESRO NDINA ANSAM EARPPL.
“That was the original clue from Prospero’s letter,” he said. “As you can see, there are periods at the ends of the second and third lines, which would indicate that there are two sentences. Each sentence is arranged in groups of five letters, with the last group consisting of six letters.”
“Got it,” said Phil.
“Go on,” said Caitlin.
“Once I determined this was a transposition cipher, I started testing different formulas for decoding the five-letter groups. That was the hard part. By trial and error and process of elimination I finally figured out it was a 5-3-4-2-1 arrangement, with the two final six-letter groups 5-3-4-2-1-6.”
“And so?” said Caitlin.
“And so this is what I got for the first sentence,” Leo said. He flipped back several pages of notes and pointed to two neatly penciled lines:
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE AND ALL
THE MEN AND WOMEN MERELY PLAYERS.
“Isn’t that from Shakespeare’s As You Like It?” Caitlin asked.
“It is indeed,” Leo said. “And so is the second sentence.” He flipped another page and pointed again.
I AM IN THIS FOREST AND IN MAN’S APPAREL.
“That’s ingenious!” Phil said.
“It sure is,” Caitlin said, “but I still don’t understand how you did it. Can you explain it again?”
“Sure,” Leo said. “Maybe if I work backward it’ll be easier to understand.” He turned to a fresh page in his notepad and began to write. “If you take the first sentence of the decoded message—‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players’—and break it up into five-letter groups, this is what it would look like:”
ALLTH EWORL DSAST AGEAN DALLT
HEMEN ANDWO MENME RELYP LAYERS.
“Now,” he went on, continuing to write, “following the 5-3-4-2-1 formula, if you put the fifth letter in each group first, the third letter second, the fourth letter third, the second letter fourth, and the first letter fifth, this is what you get:”
HLTLA LORWE TASSD NEAGA TLLAD
NMEEH ODWNA ENMEM PLYER RYEALS.
“Now I follow you,” Caitlin said.
Leo scribbled quickly again. “So, if you break up the second sentence—‘I am in this forest, and in man’s apparel’—into five-letter groups, it reads like this:”
IAMIN THISF OREST ANDIN MANSA PPAREL.
“And when you switch the letters around according to the formula, this is the code:”
NMIAI FISHT TESRO NDINA ANSAM EARPPL.
“Leo, you’re a genius!” Caitlin exclaimed.
Leo flashed a smile. “Just a minor one.”
“But a member of that most sagacious and perspicacious league nonetheless,” said Phil.
Caitlin poked Phil in the ribs. “Whoa, listen to those ten-dollar SAT words. You’re even a poet, and you don’t know it.”
Phil chuckled. “I seem to rhyme all the time.” He turned to Leo. “So, what now, chief?”
Leo looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Now that you’ve deciphered the clue,” Phil said, “what are we supposed to do with it?”
“Yeah, Leo,” Caitlin said, “what do those quotations mean?”
Leo frowned and began pacing the floor. “That’s a good question.”
“Here’s an idea,” Caitlin said brightly. “Since the quotations are from Shakespeare, maybe their meaning has something to do with Shakespeare.”
“And maybe with this Elizabethan Festival,” Phil suggested.
“But Prospero’s dead,” Caitlin countered. “He couldn’t have known about the festival.”
“He might have been involved in planning it, or known it was in the works.”
“That seems tangential. I think the clue is some kind of riddle.”
Leo stopped pacing and flung himself into his armchair. “I agree it’s probably a riddle, but what does it imply?”
“That it has something to do with Shakespeare,” said Phil.
“And Shakespeare was a playwright,” said Caitlin.
“Meaning he wrote for the stage,” said Leo.
“So maybe it’s something to do with the theater?” Phil asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Leo said. “The first sentence would seem to suggest that: ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’”
“What are ‘players’?” Phil asked.
“Actors—people in the play,” Leo said.
“Okay, so you’ve got a stage, and you’ve got actors—that’s the theater, right?”
“Right, but which theater? The theater of the world? The theater of human relations? The theater of the absurd?”
“I think you’re being too intellectual and abstract,” Caitlin said. “It’s a riddle, right? So it probably refers to the theater right here on campus—the Stink.”
Leo nodded. “I think you’ve got something there.”
“Yeah, Caitlin. That was very perceptive,” Phil said. “But what about the second quotation?”
Leo picked up his notepad and read aloud: “‘I am in this forest, and in man’s apparel.’”
“That doesn’t seem pertinent to the theater,” Phil said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Caitlin said. “What would the Stink have in common with a forest and men’s apparel? That sounds more like a garment factory in the woods or something.”
“Maybe it’s a metaphor,” Leo suggested.
“That makes sense,” Caitlin said. “Riddles are often metaphorical.”
“So maybe the forest stands for something else?” Phil suggested.
“Right,” Leo said.
“Like what, a lumber yard full of mannequins dressed in men’s suits?” Caitlin said.
Phil grinned. “Talk about tangential!”
Leo gently scratched his head just below his bandage. “No, I don’t think Caitlin’s too far off the mark.”
“Well, what’s your analysis, chief?” Phil asked.
Leo tapped the eraser end of his pencil against his notepad several times. “If the stage and the actors indicate a theater, and if, as Caitlin so insightfully inferred, the theater in question is our very own Stink, then where in the Stink might there be a ‘forest’ full of men’s apparel?”
“In the costume room!” cried Caitlin.
“Precisely,” Leo said.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Phil mumbled.
Leo checked his watch: 10:45. His head was still throbbing despite the aspirin he’d taken earlier. “Are you sure you guys’ll be all right without me?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” Caitlin said. “We’ll do everything just as you said—sneak into the theater when the play’s over at eleven, hide until midnight when everything’s closed up, then get down to the basement and find the costume room.”
“Be sure to check all the Shakespearean costumes, especially the ones for men,” Leo said. ‘“I am in this forest, and in man’s apparel,’ remember?”
“Right,” Caitlin said. “Now you just get some rest and get rid of that headache, okay? We need you well if we’re going to solve all these clues and find this treasure.”
“Thanks,” Leo said, patting her on the shoulder. He turned to Phil. “Did you get a flashlight?”
Phil nodded. “Chris lent me one. It’s right here.” He patted the side of his jacket.
“Good luck, guys,” Leo said as the two freshman started out the door. “As they say in the theater, break a leg.”
Caitlin turned and looked at Leo. “I know you’re worried, but don’t be. We won’t disappoint
you.”
“I know you won’t,” Leo said, hoping she was right.
Chapter 21
Clothes Make the Man
“Caitlin?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Did you hear something?”
Caitlin and Phil stood absolutely still in the dark hallway in the basement of the Stink. In the silence, Caitlin could almost hear her heart beat as Phil’s flashlight swept the shadowy space. Every object the moving beam of light touched—stray props, sections of painted scenery, a broom, a mannequin, a rickety table on its side—loomed out of the dark with uncanny liveliness.
“No, I didn’t,” Caitlin replied. She half expected the beam to reveal some amorphous, chimerical monster—the Phantom of the Stink—lying in wait for them. Not wanting to succumb to her fears, she added, “You must be imagining things.”
“No, I’m not. Listen.” Phil cocked his head and concentrated.
What might have been a suppressed sigh or cough or a padded step or an indistinct rustling seemed to come from directly behind them. Or was it above them? Caitlin couldn’t be sure. In fact, she wasn’t even sure she’d heard anything at all.
“I think it came from over there,” Phil said. He took a few steps forward and aimed the beam at a gray door halfway down the hall on the right. “Let’s try that one,” he suggested.
Caitlin turned the knob. Although it seemed unlocked, the door didn’t budge. She turned the knob again and, leaning against the gray metal, gave it a good shove. Again her efforts were ineffectual; the heavy door remained fixed.
Phil joined her at the door. The metal surface felt warm against their hands. They looked at each other for a moment, and then, when Caitlin nodded, they threw their shoulders against the door. This time it gave.
Tooth and Nail: A Novel Approach to the SAT (A Harvest Test Preparation Book) Page 18