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 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.’
‘Please tell me a little more definitely, Mr Ramsay,’ Stone said, ‘just why you were planning to leave Mr Balfour?’
‘I have told you—on business of my own. It has no reference to Mr Balfour in any way. It is an enterprise of my own, that I may put over in London, and I may not. From the very nature of the business, it must be kept secret and confidential until preliminary terms are arranged. This cannot be done without my presence in London, and cannot be made public at this time. If I am held on suspicion of being instrumental in the death of my employer, I shall have to stay here, of course. Also, if Mrs Balfour wishes to engage my services in the matter of settling up some library business, in which several important purchases are in process of adjustment, I will stay for a time, until such matters can be looked over and put in proper form for my successor.’
‘I do want you to stay, Mr Ramsay, at least for a time, until I find a satisfactory successor—if you feel you must go.’ Alli spoke in a casual tone, but Fleming Stone’s trained vision caught the merest glance of understanding that flashed between her and the librarian.
He sensed at once that there were undercurrents and side issues to this case that he had not looked for. If Ramsay and Mrs Balfour were in love with one another, that altered the whole situation.
‘I am quite willing to pay a higher salary than Mr Balfour was paying, but I cannot carry on the library without expert assistance,’ Alli went on. ‘I do not want Guy Balfour to take it in charge, for with the best intentions he would, in his ignorance, make grave errors. I hope Mr Ramsay will consent to remain and that he can take up his London business later.’
‘I fear I cannot decide that question tonight,’ Ramsay said, thoughtfully.
‘Nor do I want to,’ Alli said. ‘It may be that the library is not to be mine, after all. Perhaps it is left entirely to Guy. And, now he is one of the household, he will doubtless take over such duties and privileges as he is entitled to. I am not sure I shall remain in this large apartment, nor do I think Guy would want to run it alone. But all those questions are unimportant. The thing is, Mr Stone, to discover who killed my husband and where is his valuable book.’
‘Quite right, Mrs Balfour. And those matters cannot be taken up until morning. I shall have to ask some routine questions, of course. Will you detail briefly what you did during the early evening?’
‘Surely. After dinner, Mr Balfour said he and Mr Ramsay were going out on an errand, but would be back early. They left here about ten.’
‘Did you know where they were going?’
‘I knew they were going to Mr Sewell’s shop, but I did not know they meant to go in by the window.’
‘Then, were you here alone?’
‘Mr Sewell came, and Mr Swinton came, he is a man who lives in this house—oh, yes, and Mr Wiley came—he lives in this house too. They all came to see Mr Balfour, of course, and each stayed a few moments to talk to me.’
‘Now, Mrs Balfour,’ and Stone gave her one of his pleasing smiles, ‘this is the first I have heard of any definite time or times regarding the events of the evening. Please straighten out these callers, won’t you? Which came first?’
‘Mr Swinton came first. He came very soon after Mr Balfour left. He is a man who lives down on the second floor, a book-collector in a small way. He is everlastingly bringing a book for Mr Balfour or Mr Ramsay to pass judgment on. Tonight, he had a copy of Omar Khayyám, which he thought was a great find. He was vexed to find Mr Balfour not at home, and he stayed a few moments, looking at some of the books in the library.’
‘At what time did he come?’
‘It was quarter past ten when I came into the reception room, where he was waiting for me. I was tempted not to see him, for he is a bore, but Mr Balfour was always courteous to him and liked to have me nice to his friends. Well, then Mr Sewell came in—he, too, wanted to see Mr Balfour.’
‘I
