‘I can be excused, I suppose?’ he said; ‘I want to get settled in my new quarters. I’ll send for my duffel in the morning. Alli, I’m going to adopt Dad’s suite. It can be shut off entirely from yours, you know, and I feel it is my right to have it.’
‘Very well, Guy, go ahead.’ She looked at him a little distantly but made no objection to his plan.
‘You’re fond of that young man?’ Manton said, casually, after Guy had gone.
‘Not quite that,’ Alli returned, ‘but, after all, he is his father’s son, and unless the will forbids it he has certain rights, ethically, if not legally. All those things will straighten themselves out.’
‘What character do you give your stepson?’ Burnet asked.
‘Guy is a fine fellow. He is like his father in many ways. He has his faults, of course, but they will pass with the years. He has a splendid sense of family honour and loyalty.’
‘Devoted to his father, eh?’ Burnet looked dubious. ‘Yet they couldn’t live in the same house.’
‘Don’t be silly!’ and Alli looked at him scornfully. ‘I explained that. Guy is hospitable by nature, though his father was not. The boy would have gay parties and late parties, and my husband was disturbed of his rest. But now Guy may come home if he likes. I don’t mind his frolics.’
‘You are none of you definitely held on suspicion,’ Manton said as he rose to go. ‘But you are all held as material witnesses. I shall expect you here tomorrow morning, Mr Sewell, and Mr Gill—at about ten o’clock.’
The policemen went away leaving a strong guard on the place, which might have disturbed Alli had she known it.
John Sewell advised his assistant to go home, saying he would remain a little longer.
Left alone with Alli and Keith Ramsay, Sewell declared his intention of instituting a search for his missing book on his own account.
‘The police are all right,’ he said, ‘on a murder case, or most other crimes, but a rare book, especially this particular one, is a matter outside their technical knowledge. So I am going to engage a friend of mine, Fleming Stone, to take up the matter of the book. And I’m wondering, Mrs Balfour, if you’d care to have him look into the mystery of your husband’s death?’
‘What do you think, Keith?’ Alli said, in a puzzled way. ‘I know so little about these things, but perhaps Mr Stone might be a great help to us.’
‘Don’t think I’m disparaging the police,’ Sewell went on, ‘for I am not. They know their business, and they do it, but this Stone chap is a wizard for getting at the heart of a mystery. And to my mind, the death of Philip Balfour is more of a mystery than the theft of the book. They may be the work of the same criminal and they may not. I can’t help thinking there is some connection.’
‘So far as I am concerned,’ Ramsay said, ‘I’d welcome the help of Fleming Stone. I’ve heard a lot about him and he seems to me a wonder-man.’
‘Oh, he isn’t one of those story-book detectives, who startle you with their marvellous and often useless discoveries. But he is a deep thinker and a quick reasoner and, since I know his worth, I mean to ask his help. Of course, that means I should have to acquaint him with the details of this evening’s tragedy and he will, I’m sure, be interested. But nothing need be said about his coming in on it unless you want him, Mrs Balfour. Perhaps you prefer to talk it over with Mr Guy Balfour—’
‘No,’ said Alli, quickly. ‘I do want him, and there’s no reason why I should discuss it with Guy. I positively want to engage Mr Stone to investigate the murder of my husband and I ask you, Mr Sewell, to make arrangements with him, if possible. You’ve no objections, Keith?’
‘No, I haven’t. He will probably suspect me—as the police do, but if he is as clear-headed as Mr Sewell says, he can’t know the truth and still think I killed my employer and benefactor. I certainly approve of the plan and hope he can take up the case. Will the police mind?’
‘No,’ said Sewell, ‘they like him and he often works more or less with them.’
‘Call him up now,’ Alli suggested, ‘and ask him about it.’
‘Pretty late,’ said Keith.
‘Not for him,’ Sewell returned. ‘He’s up till all hours and it’s only a bit after midnight.’
Alli urged it and so Sewell called the detective.
He was at home and agreed to take any case at the request of his friend Sewell. He proposed that he come to the Balfour apartment at once and talk it over.
‘That’s the sort of man I like,’ Alli exclaimed, as Sewell relayed the conversation, ‘tell him to come right along, we’re all glad to see him.’
‘I think and I hope, Alli,’ Ramsay said, ‘that this man can help us. I haven’t yet told all I know, but I hesitated to do so until the inquiries have gone further. I suppose, Sewell, I must be entirely frank with Mr Stone?’
‘Oh, yes, you can trust him as you would yourself. I am sure you know more about the Taxation book than you’ve told, but that’s your own business. Just be utterly frank with Fleming Stone and I’m sure both crimes will be driven home. I would advise that we three see him alone, for though Mr Guy Balfour is one of the family, I don’t want to tell him about the missing book at this juncture. And if Stone is to be with us, I’m glad to talk to him before the police go further with their work.’
‘Is he a formidable man?’ asked Alli; ‘shall I be afraid of him?’
‘No; he is charming. You can’t help liking him.’
CHAPTER IV
FLEMING STONE TAKES THE CASE
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.’
&n
bsp; ‘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 arm
s 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.’
Murder in the Bookshop Page 5