‘What books, Mrs Balfour, and what did they want to see about them?’
‘I haven’t the least idea. I am interested in my husband’s collection as a whole, but I know nothing of details or transactions.’
‘You knew that Mr Ramsay went with him?’
‘Oh, yes; I saw them go.’
‘Will you tell me the happenings here the rest of the evening?’
‘Why, yes. I sat in the library and read a magazine. A telephone call came from a friend and I talked quite a long time with her. A friend who lives in this building dropped in for a little call and Mr Sewell also called. Mr Sewell seemed anxious to see Mr Balfour and I asked him to wait as I expected my husband home soon.’
‘And Mr Sewell waited?’
‘Yes, until called away by telephone. Then he left the house, seeming a little preoccupied, I thought.’
‘And this was about what time?’
‘Why, I don’t know. Somewhere around eleven, I should say. But I’m not at all certain, I never know the time.’
‘Your other caller was still here?’
‘When Mr Sewell left? Yes. He went away shortly after.’
‘He lives in this house, you say? What is his name?’
‘Yes, he has an apartment on the second floor, I think. His name is Mr Swinton and he is a long time friend of Mr Balfour and myself.’
‘Well, now, Mrs Balfour, this may sound a hard question, but I must ask it. Do you know of anyone, anyone at all, who would have any wish to kill Mr Balfour?’
‘Certainly not!’ The brown eyes blazed. ‘He was a man friendly to all. He had few intimate friends, but he had a very wide circle of acquaintances and I am perfectly sure no one of them would wish him the slightest harm.’
‘He was on friendly terms with Mr Ramsay, his librarian?’
She smiled faintly. ‘Indeed, yes. I often told him he spent more time with Mr Ramsay than he did with me.’
‘You helped him with his books?’
‘I couldn’t really help him, but I often sat in the library while they discussed the books and I learned more or less about them.’
‘Did you know that Mr Balfour had bought or was about to buy a book from Mr Sewell that would cost something like a hundred thousand dollars?’
‘Oh, yes, I know all about that. Did you get it, Mr Sewell?’
‘The deal is still hanging fire. I can’t yet give a final report.’
‘It is probable, Mrs Balfour,’ Burnet put in, ‘that your husband’s death is due to his possession of that book, and—he was possibly killed by a member of this household.’
IF Captain Burnet expected to shock Alli Balfour, he must have been disappointed.
She sat up straight, resting her hands on the arms of the high-backed chair, and said in a gentle voice:
‘Don’t talk in riddles, Captain. What do you mean by household? We are only three here. My husband, myself and Mr Ramsay. Do I understand you suspect Mr Ramsay—or me?’
‘Not you, madam, certainly not.’ This from Manton. ‘But there are circumstances that make us feel that your husband’s librarian must be asked a few questions.’
‘Ask him, then, by all means. He was a great favourite with my husband. Mr Balfour depended on him for all matters connected with the library. The slightest suspicion of Mr Ramsay’s guilt is too absurd. But I hope you will prove this to your own satisfaction.’
‘We sure will,’ Burnet told her. ‘Now, Mr Ramsay, where is this very valuable book that has been spoken of?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Ramsay declared. ‘It was Mr Balfour’s errand tonight to get the volume from Mr Sewell, who, Mr Balfour supposed, had it ready for him.’
‘Where was this marvellous volume to come from?’ and the Captain turned his inquiring glance on Sewell.
‘That information is entirely unnecessary to your work, Captain Burnet, and I don’t care to give it. Transactions in the more valuable rare books are, as a rule, confidential among the parties concerned. However, the book has disappeared and if you can find it in the course of your investigation, I shall be glad indeed to see it again.’
‘How large is the book? Could Mr Balfour have found it and put it in his pocket?’
‘In an overcoat pocket, yes. Not easily in a coat pocket.’
‘You don’t care to tell me the name of the book?’
‘I don’t, and I’ll tell you why. The book itself is not the treasure. It is the fact of the owner’s signature on the fly-leaf and some other points, not of any meaning to the man in the street, but significant to collectors. It is quite possible that Mr Balfour found it on my shelves. If so, he had every right to take it, for I bought it for him and should have given it to him at the first opportunity. If there’s a chance that it was in his overcoat pocket, will you not telephone the morgue and find out? His clothing will be cared for there.’
‘I’ll do that,’ and Burnet rose and left the room.
‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about,’ said Gill, who had been listening with a perplexed air. ‘If a bad man came in and killed Mr Balfour and knocked out Ramsay, why consider any other possible criminal, and why not assume he has the rare book and set to work to get it back?’
‘It is not so easy as that, Mr Gill,’ and Manton looked at him closely. ‘There are many angles to be considered. For instance, you will probably be asked to give a more definite report of how you spent this evening than you have yet done.’
‘Rubbish! I was miles away at the time the killing took place.’
‘At what time did the killing take place?’
‘Lordy! don’t you know that? And you an Inspector! I thought you nailed down the time the very first thing.’
‘I’d be glad to. But nobody seems to know anything about it. When did you leave the shop?’
‘About eight. And as I was back there something like half-past eleven, I’m assuming Mr Balfour was attacked between those hours. Now who did it? For if it was someone who wanted that book, it is conceivable that was the motive for the crime; but if the murderer was someone who knew nothing of rare books, then we have two criminals to look for.’
‘Where
