by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XX "THAT WAS THE MAN"
Dan Whitner was a somewhat shabby likeness of Roderick Vining; that is,he was a gray-haired, stoop-shouldered, young-old man who knew a greatdeal about books. His shelves were dusty, so too was a mouse-coloredjacket.
Yes, he "remembered the book quite well." Lucile began to get the notionthat once one of these book wizards set eyes upon an ancient volume henever forgot it.
"Strange case, that," smiled Dan as he looked at her over his glasses.
"Ah! Here is where I learn something of real importance," was the girl'smental comment.
"You see," Dan went on, "I sometimes have dinner with a very good friendwho also loves books--the Reverend Dr. Edward Edwards. Dinner, on suchoccasions, is served on a tea-wagon in his library; sort of makes afellow feel at home, don't you know?
"Well, one of these evenings when the good doctor had an exceptionalroast of mutton and a hubbard squash just in from the farm and a wee bitof something beside, he had me over. While we waited to be served I wasglancing over his books and chanced to note the book you now have in yourhand. 'I see,' I said to him jokingly, 'that you have come into alegacy.'
"'Why, no,' he says looking up surprised. 'Why should you think that?'
"I pointed to this little copy of 'The Compleat Angler' and said, 'Onlythem as are very rich can afford to possess such as this one.'
"He looked at me in surprise, then smiled as he said, 'I did pay a littletoo much for it, I guess, but the print was rather unusual; besides, it'sa great book. I don't mind admitting that it cost me fifteen dollars.'
"'Fifteen dollars!' I exploded.
"'Got trimmed, did I?' he smiled back. 'Well, you know the old sayingabout the clergy, no business heads on them, so we'll let it stand atthat.'
"'Trimmed nothing!' I fairly yelled. 'The book's a small fortune initself; one of those rare finds. Why--I'd venture to risk six hundreddollars on it myself without opening the covers of it. It's a firstedition or I'm not a book seller at all.'
"'Sold!' he cried in high glee. 'There are three families in my parishwho are in dire need. This book was sent, no doubt, to assist me intiding them over.'
"So that's how I came into possession of the book. I sold it to Vining atBurtnoe's, as you no doubt know."
"But," exclaimed Lucile breathlessly, feeling that the scent was growingfresher all the while, "from whom did the doctor purchase it at soridiculous a price?"
"From a fool bookstorekeeper of course; one of those upstarts who knownothing at all about books; who handle them as pure merchandise,purchased at so much and sold for forty and five per cent more,regardless of actual value. He'd bought it to help out some ignorantforeigner, a Spaniard I believe. He'd paid ten dollars and had beenterribly pleased within himself when he made five on the deal."
"Who was he?" Lucile asked eagerly, "and where was his shop?"
"That I didn't trouble to find out. Very likely he's out of business bynow. Such shops are like grass in autumn, soon die down and the snowcovers them up. The doctor could tell you though. I'll give you hisaddress and you may go and ask him."
The short afternoon was near spent and the shades of night were alreadyfalling when at last Lucile entered the shop of the unfortunatebookseller who had not realized the value of the little book. Lunch haddelayed her, then the doctor had been out making calls and had kept herwaiting for two hours. The little shop had been hard to find, but here atlast she was.
A pitiful shop it was, possessing but a few hundred volumes and presidedover by a grimy-fingered man who might but the day before have beenpromoted from the garbage wagon so far as personal appearance wasconcerned. Indeed, as Lucile looked over the place she was seized withthe crazy notion that the whole place, books, shelves and proprietor, hadbut recently climbed down from the junk cart.
"And yet," she told herself, "it was from this very heap of dusty paperand cardboard that this precious bit of literature which I have in mypocket, was salvaged. I must not forget that.
"I believe," she told herself with an excited intake of breath, "that Iam coming close to the end of my search. All day I have been descendingstep by step; first the wonderful Burtnoe's Book Store with all itsmagnificence and its genius of a bookman, then Dan Whitner and thedoctor, now this place, and then perhaps, whoever the person is who soldthe book to this pitiful specimen of a bookseller."
Her heart skipped a beat as the bookman, having caught sight of her,began to amble in her direction.
She made her question short and to the point. "Where did you get thisbook?"
"That book?" he took it and turned it over in his hand. He scratched hishead. "That, why that book must have been one I bought with a lot at anauction sale last week. Want'a buy it?"
"No. No!" exclaimed Lucile, seizing the book. "It's not your book. It ismine but you had it once and sold it. What I wish to know is, where didyou get it?"
Three customers were thumbing through the books. One seated at a tableturned and looked up. His face impressed the girl at once as beingparticularly horrible. Dark featured, hook-nosed, with a blue birthmarkcovering half his chin, he inspired her with an almost uncontrollablefear.
"We--we--" she faltered "--may we not step back under the light where youcan see the book better?"
The shopkeeper followed her in stolid silence.
It was necessary for her to tell him the whole story of the purchase andsale of the book before he recognized it as having once been on hisshelves.
"Oh, yes," he exclaimed at last. "Made five dollars on her. Thought I hadmade a mistake, but didn't; not that time I didn't. Where'd I get her?Let's see?"
As he stood there attempting to recall the name of the purchaser,Lucile's gaze strayed to an opening between two rows of books. Instantlyher eyes were caught as a bird's by a serpent, as she found herselflooking into a pair of cruel, crafty, prying eyes. They vanishedinstantly but left her with a cold chill running up her spine. It was theman who had been seated at the table, but why had he been spying? She hadnot long to wait before a possible solution was given her.
"I know!" exclaimed the shopkeeper at this instant, "I bought it from aforeigner. Bought two others from him, too. Made good money on 'em all,too. Why!" he exclaimed suddenly, "he was in here when you came. Hadanother book under his arm, he did; wanted to sell it, I judge. I wasjust keeping him waiting a little so's he wouldn't think I wanted it toobad. If they think you want their books bad they stick for a big price."His voice had dropped to a whisper; his eyes had narrowed to what wasmeant to be a very wise-meaning expression.
"May be here yet." He darted around the stand of books.
"That's him just going out the door. Hey, you!" he shouted after the man.
Paying not the least attention, the person passed out, slamming the doorafter him.
Passing rapidly down the room, the proprietor poked his head out of thedoor and shouted twice. After listening for a moment he backed into theroom and shut the door.
"Gone," he muttered. "Worse luck to me. Sometimes we wait too long andsometimes not long enough. Now some other lucky dog will get that book."
In the meantime Lucile had glanced about the shop. Two persons werereading beneath a lamp in the corner. Neither was the man with thebirthmark. It was natural enough to conclude that it was he who had leftthe room.
"Did he have a birthmark on his chin, this man you bought the book from?"she asked as the proprietor returned.
"Yes, ma'am, he did."
"Then I saw him here a moment ago. When is he likely to return?"
"That no one can tell. Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps never. He has not beenhere before in three months. Did you wish to speak with him?"
Lucile shivered. "Well, perhaps not," she half whispered.
"Huh!" grunted the proprietor suddenly, "what's this? Must be the book hebrought. He's forgotten it. Now he is sure to be back."
Lucile was rather of the opinion that he would not soon retu
rn. Shebelieved that there had been some trickery about the affair of thesevaluable books which were being sold to the cheapest book dealer in thecity for a very small part of their value. "Perhaps they were stolen,"she told herself. At once the strangeness of the situation came to her;here she was with a book in her possession which had been but recentlystolen from Frank Morrow's book shop by a girl and now circumstancesseemed to indicate that this very book had been stolen by some person whohad sold it to this bookmonger, who had passed it on to the doctor whohad sold it to Dan Whitner, who had sold it to Roderick Vining, who hadsold it to Frank Morrow.
"Sounds like the house that Jack built," she whispered to herself. "Butthen I suppose some valuable books have been stolen many times. FrankMorrow said one of his had been stolen twice within a week by totallydifferent persons."
Turning to the shopkeeper, she asked if she might see the book that hadbeen left behind.
As she turned back the cover a low exclamation escaped her lips. In thecorner of that cover was the same secret mark as had been in all themystery books, the gargoyle and the letter L.
Hiding her surprise as best she could, she handed the book to the manwith the remark:
"Of course you cannot sell the book, since it is not your own?"
"I'd chance it."
"I'll give you ten dollars for it. If he returns and demands more, I willeither pay the price or return the book. I'll give you my address."
"Done!" he exclaimed. "I don't think you'll ever hear from me. I'll givehim seven and he'll be glad enough to get it. Pretty good, eh?" he rubbedhis hands together gleefully. "Three dollars clean profit and not a centinvested any of the time."
Like the ancient volume on fishing, this newly acquired book was smalland thin, so without examining its contents she thrust it beside theother in the large pocket of her coat.
"I suppose I oughtn't to have done it," she whispered to herself as sheleft the shop, "but if I hadn't, he'd have sold it to the first customer.It's evidence in the case and besides it may be valuable."
A fog hung over the city. The streets were dark and damp. Here and therea yellow light struggled to pierce the denseness of the gloom. As sheturned to the right and walked down the street, not knowing for themoment quite what else to do, she fancied that a shadow darted down thealley to her left.
"Too dark to tell. Might have been a dog or anything," she murmured. Yetshe shivered and quickened her pace. She was in a great, dark city aloneand she was going--where? That she did not know. The day's adventures hadleft her high and dry on the streets of a city as a boat is left by thetide on the sand.