The Collectors

He told the others the results of his search. “The Beadles require a lot of preservation work because they were so cheaply made.”

Stone, whose mind had raced ahead of the others, looked at Rachel Jeffries. “Can you tell us which conservator repaired that particular Beadle?”

“Oh, sure, it was Monty Chambers.”

Stone and the others started running down the long corridor.

Caleb called back over his shoulder, “Rachel, I love you.”

She immediately blushed but managed to say, “Caleb, you know I’m married. But maybe we can have a drink sometime.”

“Do you know where Chambers lives?” Stone asked Caleb as they ran out onto the street.

Caleb nodded. “It’s actually not too far from here.” They hailed two cabs and sped off. Fifteen minutes later the cabs slowed as they turned onto a quiet residential street lined with old row houses that were in good repair. Each had a small square of front yard enclosed by two-foot-high wrought-iron railings.

“This area looks familiar for some reason,” Stone said.

“There are a lot of neighborhoods just like this one around here,” Caleb explained.

They climbed out of the cabs, and Caleb led them up to one of the homes. The brick was painted blue and the shutters were coal black. Flowers sat in pots on the windowsill.

“You’ve been here before, obviously,” Stone said, and Caleb nodded.

“Monty has a workshop at home where he repairs books freelance. I’ve referred several people to him. He’s even repaired a couple of my books. I can’t believe he’d be mixed up in something like this. He’s the best conservator LOC has, been there for decades.”

“Everyone has their price, and a conservator would be the perfect person to doctor the books,” Stone remarked, looking cautiously at the front of the house. “I doubt that he’s hanging around here, but you never know. Reuben and I will knock on the door while you all stay back.”

The knock prompted no response. Stone glanced around. There was no one on the street. “Give me some cover, Reuben,” he said.

Reuben turned around and placed his wide body between Stone and the street. A minute later the lock clicked open. Stone went in first, followed by Reuben. The main floor revealed nothing of interest. The furniture was old, but hardly antique, the pictures on the walls were prints, the refrigerator had some old takeout in it, the dishwasher was empty. The two bedrooms upstairs yielded little of interest. Some slacks, shirts and jackets hung in one closet, underwear and socks in the small bureau. The bathroom held the usual items, though Stone picked up a couple objects with a puzzled look. The medicine cabinet held the typical assortment of prescriptions and toiletries. They found nothing that might indicate where Chambers had gone.

When they got back downstairs, the others were standing in the foyer.

“Anything?” Caleb asked anxiously.

Stone answered, “You mentioned a workshop?”

“Lower level.”

They trooped down and searched through Chambers’ work space. It had all the things one would expect to see in a book conservator’s arsenal and nothing else.

“Dead end,” Reuben proclaimed.

The lower level was a walk-out, and Stone glanced out the window. “Opens into an alleyway with a row of buildings on the other side.”

“So?” Reuben said irritably. “I doubt a fleeing traitor would be lurking in an alley waiting for the feds to show up.”

Stone opened the door, stepped out and looked up and down the alley. “Wait here!” He ran down the alley, turned the corner and disappeared from view. When he returned a few minutes later, his eyes were gleaming.

Reuben was watching his friend closely. “You remembered why this place looks familiar. You’ve been here before?”

“We’ve all been here before, Reuben.”

CHAPTER 67

STONE LED THEM AROUND THE corner and down the street along the front of the row houses that backed to the alley opposite Chambers’ home. Stone stopped in the middle of the block and motioned the others to stay put as he stared upward at something on the building they were in front of.

“Good Lord,” Caleb said, looking around and realizing where he was. “I didn’t recognize it in the daytime.”

“Caleb, ring the bell,” Stone instructed.

Caleb did so and a deep voice said, “Yes, who is it?”

Stone motioned to Caleb. “Oh, it’s me, Mr. Pearl, Caleb Shaw. I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about the Psalm Book.”

“I am not open. My hours are clearly posted on the sign.”

“It’s very urgent,” Caleb said. “Please? It won’t take long.”

A long moment passed and then they heard a click. Caleb pulled the door open and they all went inside. When Vincent Pearl appeared a moment later, he was not dressed in long robes, but in black pants, white shirt and a green work apron. His long hair was disheveled and his beard untidy. He appeared startled to see the others with Caleb and said angrily, “I’m very busy right now, Shaw. I cannot drop everything simply because you show up unannounced.”