'How in the world ...' began Innes.
'You wear a Star of David around your neck at the end of that chain.'
Stern lifted the medallion, as described, from under his shirt.
'But how did you know he was Russian?' asked Innes.
'Stern is a fairly common diminution—Americanization, if you will—of an entire subgroup of Russian surnames. You display none of the obvious outward signs of a devout, Orthodox Jew—it's likely your father, who was undoubtedly part of the first wholesale immigration from Russia to New York a generation ago, is more avidly a practitioner—in spite of which you wear a religious symbol concealed around your neck, indicating some self-division about your status; a conflict not uncommon in the relationship between a father and his eldest son.
'The uppers of your shoes—relatively new as indicated by the lack of wear on the edge of the soles; purchased with the last few weeks—are a distinctive Spanish leather particular to Seville. Your stay in that one city was of sufficient length to have this pair of shoes crafted to order—three weeks to a month usually—which suggests you were probably there on business. And this afternoon I happened to overhear a portion of your conversation with the Captain about the safekeeping of a book.'
Stern let them know all of Doyle's conclusions were accurate, save two: His shoes had been purchased from a bootmaker on Jermyn Street in London, where his recent business had been conducted—he'd never set foot in Spain—but yes the leather had been sold to him as a product of Seville, and the book in question was indeed of Spanish origin.
Innes shared but did not disclose his equal astonishment, unwilling to indicate either undue admiration of or a lack of solidarity with his brother. He knew Arthur had consulted with the police from time to time, and of course he'd written those detective stories, but had no idea his detective skills were sharpened to such a remarkable edge.
'So, Mr. Stern,' continued Doyle, standing over the man, hands folded magisterially behind his back, 'now you had better tell us about this book the parties allegedly following you are so interested in and how it came into your possession.'
Stern nodded, running his pale, slender hands back through his unruly hair. 'It is called the
'The tradition of Jewish mysticism,' said Doyle; he searched his mind, finding his hard knowledge of the subject frustratingly scant.
'That's right. The Zohar has been for centuries a restricted document, studied only by an eccentric line of rabbinical scholars.'
'Well, what is it?' asked Innes, lost as a motherless calf.
'Kabbalah? Hard to describe, really; a patchwork of medieval philosophy and folklore, scriptural interpretations, legends of creation, mystical theology, cosmogony, anthropology, transmigration of souls.'
'Oh,' said Innes, feeling sorry he'd asked.
'Most of it's written as a dialogue between a legendary, perhaps fictional teacher by the name of Rabbi Simeon bar Yochai and his son and disciple, Eleazar. The two supposedly hid in a cave for thirteen years to avoid prosecution by the Roman emperor; when the emperor died and the Rabbi came out of seclusion, he was so disturbed by the lack of spirituality he saw among his people that he went right back into the cave, to meditate for guidance. After a year, he heard a voice that told him to let ordinary people go their own way and to teach only the ones who were ready. The Zohar is the record of those teachings, written down by his followers.'
'Not unlike the Socratic dialogues of Plato and... er, what's his name,' said Innes, not wanting to appear entirely ignorant, although he still had only the dimmest idea of what the fellow was talking about.
'Aristotle,' said Stern and Doyle.
'Right-o.'
'Did those original manuscripts survive?' asked Doyle.
'Perhaps; the Zohar was written in Aramaic, the language of second-century Palestine. Authorship of the original remains in dispute, but it is most often attributed to an obscure thirteenth-century rabbi who lived in Spain, Moses de Leon. Only two surviving manuscripts of De Leon's original work have been found; one is called the Tikkunei Zohar, a short addendum written some years after the main book. The Tikkunei was obtained last year from Oxford by the University of Chicago for study by a group of Jewish-American scholars—among whom my father, Rabbi Jacob Stern, as you correctly surmised, Mr. Doyle, is one of the foremost.
'After long negotiations, my partner and I have just secured the temporary loan of the oldest complete handwritten manuscript of the Book of Zohar. Called the Gerona Zohar; it dates from the early fourteenth century and was discovered years ago at the site of an ancient temple near Gerona, Spain. There's been tremendous controversy among experts about the Gerona Zohar's authenticity; my father and his colleagues hope that with both books in their possession they can compare them side by side and resolve these questions once and for all.'
'Right, so what's so special about this old Bologna Zohar?' asked Innes, stifling a yawn.
'Gerona. To be honest, I've never studied it myself. I'm a businessman, rare books are my trade not my passion; I have no training or interest in such an academic undertaking. But my father, who's studied the Kabbalah for close to thirty years, would tell you he believes this book, if successfully decoded, will provide man with the answer to the mystery of creation, the identity of our creator, and the exact nature of the relationship between us.'
'Mmph. Tall order, that,' said Innes, displaying his natural gift for understatement.
'No one's managed it yet, have they?' said Doyle.
'It's all Greek to me,' said Stern. 'I wouldn't know what the mystery of creation was if it jumped up and stole my hat; all I'm told is that among the men my father keeps faith with, the Book of Zohar is reputed to contain the hidden key that will unlock the secret meanings of the Torah. ...'
'The first five books of the Old Testament,' said Doyle.
'Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy,' said Innes, counting his fingers to remember— behind his back—-as he'd been taught to do in Sunday school.
'... and that the Torah was allegedly transcribed directly from the teachings that Moses supposedly received from God on Mount Sinai.'
'Allegedly; supposedly.'
'As you also correctly observed, Mr. Doyle, I am not by temperament or inclination in even the slightest way a religious man. If there is an all-powerful, all-knowing God, and if He had intended for man to solve the riddle of his own creation, I seriously doubt He would have gone to all the trouble of hiding the answer in the pages of a musty old book.'
'A book which, nevertheless, you now believe someone is willing to kill you for.'
'I didn't say the book was without earthly value: before taking possession of it we had the Gerona Zohar insured by Lloyd's of London for a sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.'
'Preposterous!' snorted Innes. 'Who'd pay that much for a book?'
'There are private collectors the world over who would consider it a priceless addition to their libraries,' said Doyle. 'Men for whom money is no object and who might be more than willing to commission the theft of such an item.'
'Commission the theft? Fiddlesticks; from whom?'
'Well, thieves, naturally.' Good Christ, the boy was thick sometimes.
'You have arrived at the root of my fears exactly, Mr. Doyle,' said Stern. 'As I said, neither my associate nor I— his name is Rupert Selig, by the way; he manages European accounts and works out of our London office— neither of us can point to any direct evidence of someone stalking us. But ever since we arrived in London with the book, we have both experienced the uncanny feeling that we were being observed.
The feeling grew steadily worse as we made our way to Southampton and onto the
'I am familiar with the sensation,' said Doyle.
'Bloody spooks at a seance don't help much,' said Innes.
'Absolutely; I don't know about you but I found that business tonight terrifying,' said Stern. 'And I can't tell
