“Is that Metzger?” said Roger, pointing to the bearded man who was trying to break Aubrey’s grip. “Gilbert, don’t choke that man, we want him to do some explaining.”
Aubrey got up, picked his revolver from the floor where he had dropped it, and prodded the chef to his feet.
“Well, you swine,” he said, “how did you enjoy falling downstairs the other evening? As for you, Herr Weintraub, I’d like to know what kind of prescriptions you make up in that cellar of yours.”
Weintraub’s face shone damply in the lamplight. Perspiration was thick on his forehead.
“My dear Mifflin,” he said, “this is awfully stupid. In my eagerness, I’m afraid—”
Titania ran back into the room, followed by Helen, whose face was crimson.
“Thank God you’re back, Roger,” she said. “These brutes tied me up in the kitchen and gagged me with a roller-towel. They threatened to shoot Titania if she wouldn’t give them the suitcase.”
Weintraub began to say something, but Roger thrust the revolver between his eyes.
“Hold your tongue!” he said. “We’re going to have a look at those books of yours.”
“I’ll get the suitcase,” said Titania. “I hid it. When Mr. Weintraub came in and asked for it, at first I was going to give it to him, but he looked so queer I thought something must be wrong.”
“Don’t you get it,” said Aubrey, and their eyes met for the first time. “Show me where it is, and we’ll let friend Hun bring it.”
Titania flushed a little. “It’s in my bedroom cupboard,” she said.
She led the way upstairs, Metzger following, and Aubrey behind Metzger with his pistol ready. Outside the bedroom door Aubrey halted. “Show him the suitcase and let him pick it up,” he said. “If he makes a wrong movement, call me, and I’ll shoot him.”
Titania pointed out the suitcase, which she had stowed at the back of her cupboard behind some clothes. The chef showed no insubordination, and the three returned downstairs.
“Very well,” said Roger. “We’ll go down in the shop where we can see better. Perhaps he’s got a first folio Shakespeare in here. Helen, you go to the phone and ring up the McFee Street police station. Ask them to send a couple of men round here at once.”
“My dear Mifflin,” said Weintraub, “this is very absurd. Only a few old books that I had collected from time to time.”
“I don’t call it absurd when a man comes into my house and ties my wife up with clothesline and threatens to shoot a young girl,” said Roger. “We’ll see what the police have to say about this, Weintraub. Don’t make any mistake: if you try to bolt I’ll blow your brains out.”
Aubrey led the way down into the shop while Metzger carried the suitcase. Roger and Weintraub followed, and Titania brought up the rear. Under a bright light in the Essay alcove Aubrey made the chef lay the bag on the table.
“Open her up,” he said curtly.
“It’s nothing but some old books,” said Metzger.
“If they’re old enough they may be valuable,” said Roger. “I’m interested in old books. Look sharp!”
Metzger drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the bag. Aubrey held the pistol at his head as he threw back the lid.
The suitcase was full of secondhand books closely packed together. Roger, with great presence of mind, was keeping his eyes on Weintraub.
“Tell me what’s in it,” he said.
“Why, it’s only a lot of books, after all,” cried Titania.
“You see,” said Weintraub surlily, “there’s no mystery about it. I’m sorry I was so—”
“Oh, look!” said Titania; “There’s the Cromwell book!”
For an instant Roger forgot himself. He looked instinctively at the suitcase, and in that moment the druggist broke away, ran down the aisle, and flew out of the door. Roger dashed after him, but was too late. Aubrey was holding Metzger by the collar with the pistol at his head.
“Good God,” he said, “why didn’t you shoot?”
“I don’t know” said Roger in confusion. “I was afraid of hitting him. Never mind, we can fix him later.”
“The police will be here in a minute,” said Helen, calling from the telephone. “I’m going to let Bock in. He’s in the back yard.”
“I think they’re both crazy,” said Titania. “Let’s put the Cromwell back on the shelf and let this creature go.” She put out her hand for the book.
“Stop!” cried Aubrey, and seized her arm. “Don’t touch that book!”
Titania shrank back, frightened by his voice. Had everyone gone insane?
“Here, Mr. Metzger,” said Aubrey, “you put that book back on the shelf where it belongs. Don’t try to get away. I’ve got this revolver pointed at you.”
He and Roger were both startled by the chef’s face. Above the unkempt beard his eyes shone with a half-crazed lustre, and his hands shook.
“Very well,” he said. “Show me where it goes.”
“I’ll show you,” said Titania.
Aubrey put out his arm in front of the girl. “Stay where you are,” he said angrily.
“Down in the History alcove,” said Roger. “The front alcove on the other side of the shop. We’ve both got you covered.”
Instead of taking the volume from the suitcase, Metzger picked up the whole bag, holding it flat. He carried it to the alcove they indicated. He placed the case carefully on the floor, and picked the Cromwell volume out of it.
“Where would you want it to go?” he said in an odd voice. “This is a valuable book.”
“On the fifth shelf,” said Roger. “Over there—”
“For God’s sake stand back,” said Aubrey. “Don’t go near him. There’s something damnable about this.”
“You poor fools!” cried Metzger harshly. “To hell with you and your old books.” He drew his hand back as though to throw the volume at them.
There was a quick patter of feet, and Bock, growling, ran down the aisle. In the same instant, Aubrey, obeying some unexplained impulse, gave Roger
