The Collectors

The door slid open on silent powered hinges, and they went inside. The space was about ten feet wide, nine feet high, and looked to be about thirty feet long. As soon as they walked in the vault, specialized low lighting came on, enabling them to see reasonably well.

“It’s fire- and bombproof. And it’s also temperature-and-humidity-controlled,” Caleb explained. “That’s a must with rare books, particularly in basements, where those levels can fluctuate drastically.”

The vault was lined with shelves. And on the shelves were books, pamphlets and other articles that, even to the untrained eye, looked rare and valuable.

“Can we touch anything?” Milton asked

“Better let me do it,” Caleb answered. “Some of these items are very fragile. Many of them haven’t seen natural light for over a hundred years.”

“Damn,” Reuben exclaimed, running his finger lightly along the spine of one of the books. “Like a little prison and they’re serving their life sentences.”

“That’s a very unfair way to look at it, Reuben,” Caleb said in a scolding tone. “It protects the books so other generations can one day enjoy them. Jonathan went to great expense to house his collection with exquisite care.”

“What sort of collection did he have?” Stone asked. He was eyeing one very old tome whose cover appeared to be carved from oak.

Caleb carefully slid out the book Stone was referring to. “Jonathan had a good collection, but not a great one; he’d be the first to admit that. All the great collectors had an almost limitless amount of money, but, more than that, they all had a vision for what sort of collection they wanted and they pursued it with a single-mindedness that could only be called an obsession. It’s referred to as bibliomania, the world’s ‘gentlest’ obsession. All the great collectors had it.”

He glanced around the room. “There are some must-haves for the best collections that Jonathan simply would never be able to own.”

“Like what?” Stone asked.

“Shakespeare’s Folios. The First Folio would be the obvious one, of course. It contains nine hundred pages with thirty-six of the plays. None of the Bard’s original manuscripts have survived, so the Folios are incredibly desirable. A First Folio sold a few years ago in England for three and a half million pounds.”

Milton let out a low whistle and shook his head. “About six thousand dollars a page.”

Caleb continued, “Then there are the obvious acquisitions: William Blake, Newton’s Principia Mathematica, something from Caxton, the earliest English printer. J. P. Morgan had over sixty Caxtons in his collection, if I remember correctly. A 1457 Mainz Psalter, The Book of St. Albans, and, of course, a Gutenberg Bible. There are only three known mint-condition Gutenbergs printed on vellum in the world. The Library of Congress has one. They’re priceless.”

Caleb ran his gaze down one shelf. “Jonathan has the 1472 edition of Dante’s Divine Comedy, which would be welcome in any first-rate collection. He also has Poe’s Tamerlane, which is exceedingly rare and difficult to obtain. One sold some time ago for nearly two hundred thousand dollars. Poe’s reputation has made a nice rebound lately, so today it would fetch a much higher price. The collection includes a worthy selection of incunabula, mostly German, but some Italian, and a solid set of first editions of more contemporary novels, many of them autographed. He was very strong in Americana and has a large sampling of personal writings from Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Franklin, Madison, Hamilton, Lincoln and others. As I said, it’s a very nice collection, but not a great one.”

“What’s that?” Reuben asked, pointing to a dimly lit corner in the back of the vault.

They all crowded around the object. It was a small portrait of a man in medieval dress.

“I don’t remember seeing that before,” Caleb said.

“And why have a painting hanging in a vault?” Milton added.

“And only one painting,” Stone commented. “Not much of a collection.” He was examining the portrait from various angles before placing his fingers on one edge of the painting’s frame and pulling. It swung open on a set of hinges, revealing the door of a small combination lock safe built into the wall.

“A safe within a safe,” Stone said. “Try the combination the lawyer gave you for the main vault, Caleb.”

Caleb did so but it didn’t work. He tried various other numbers without success.

Stone remarked, “People typically use a combination they won’t forget so they won’t have to write it down. It could be numbers, letters or both.”

“Why give Caleb the key and pass code to the main vault but not give him the one to the inner safe?” Milton asked.

“Maybe he figured Caleb would know it somehow,” Reuben commented.

Stone nodded. “I agree with Reuben. Think, Caleb. It might have something to do with the Rare Books reading room.”

“Why?” Milton asked.

“Because this was DeHaven’s rare books reading room of sorts.”

Caleb looked thoughtful. “Well, Jonathan did open the room every day, about an hour before anyone else arrived. That was done with special alarmed keys, and he also had to input a security code to open the doors. But I don’t have that code.”

“Something simpler than that perhaps. So simple it’s staring you in the face.”

Caleb suddenly snapped his fingers. “Of course. Staring me in the face every day of my life.” His fingers punched in a code on the safe’s digital pad, and the door clicked open.

“What number did you use?” Stone asked.