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
