CHAPTER THREE
Lamont returned the phone to its cradle and turned to Margot.
“Weston has identified the books, but has not managed to identify the missing object on the wall.”
Cranston walked across the ornate rug in the paneled study of Cranston Manor to a leather chair. He sat down abruptly, his fingertips pressed together. Margot was seated on a small couch perpendicular to him.
“What books could be so valuable that they can justify such a horrible crime?” She asked, leaning closer to Lamont.
“That is what puzzles me, Margot. The books are valuable, but not in a monetary way.”
“What do you mean?”
“For example, one is the collected writings of a very great mystic. He was said to have found true enlightenment and recorded his spiritual journey in seven identical books that he then, through his followers, spread throughout the known world.”
Cranston lowered his hands and looked at Margot.
“Every copy was supposedly destroyed in wars throughout the centuries, the last perishing during the French Revolution. I have no idea how Embry came to possess such a treasure.”
“Yes, Lamont,” Margot said, “but you said that they weren’t treasure, didn’t you?”
“To be sure, Margot,” Lamont replied. “The books are of such a rarity that they lack the notoriety to be worth a large sum of money. The treasure would be to the student of the mind. The Mystic was said to have gone far beyond the simple abilities taught to me in the Orient. He was said to have mastered the fundamental forces of the universe itself.”
“Then why steal them?”
“Because,” Cranston replied, “to someone who was a student of the mind, they would be worth any price. I would pay a fantastic sum for them myself.”
“What other books are missing?”
“That is also interesting,” Cranston answered. “The other two books are of a similar age. One is an intricate record of astrological observations from Ancient China, and the other is the historical record of a Buddhist monastery in Tibet.”
“A monastery?” Margot asked.
“Yes. I actually was a guest there for some time in my youth. It was known for the depth of knowledge of its monks, men who often were called upon to resolve disputes and bring answers to difficult problems.”
Cranston stood abruptly.
“The thing I don’t understand is how Embry, though surely an educated and discerning man, came into possession of three artifacts of such rare distinction. His interests were in the arts and music.”
He walked to the window. Margot stood and joined him.
“And what about the mysterious object on the wall, Lamont? Do you think it was a work of art or a photograph?”
“I don’t know, Margot. But we can find out more about those books and where Embry acquired them.”
With that, he turned and handed Margot her coat from off of the rack by the door.
“We’re going to see an old friend of mine.”
With Schrevy across town carrying a regular fare, the two were forced to take an ordinary cab into the older section of the city. This prevented Margot from asking questions about their destination or the “old friend” to whom Cranston was referring.
When they finally arrived at their destination, Margot stepped out of the taxi to see a shabby old shop with tattered books in the window. The swinging sign over the door read “Tallon Books - Procurement and Sales of Rare Texts”.
Lamont paid the cabbie and the two entered the old storefront. Margot was struck by the musty smell of old paper the moment they entered. Most of the shop was neatly organized on various low wall shelves and a few stand-alone bookcases set around the room. Some of the shelves had meticulously handwritten signs that read “First Editions” or reflected the books’ nations of origin. The desk at the front of the store, however, was obscured with several loose stacks of books that presumably were being processed. Margot saw no shopkeeper.
“Cranston, it’s good to see you.”
Margot almost jumped with surprise, as the high-pitched male voice came from the stacks of books on the desk. Cranston stepped forward with his hand extended as Margot finally saw who had spoken. It was a man about five and a half feet tall confined to a wheelchair. He rolled himself from behind the stack of books that had obscured him and took Cranston’s hand, shaking it vigorously.
“Professor Tallon, it’s always a pleasure to see you as well,” Lamont smiled warmly and then gestured to Margot. “This is my friend, Margot Lane.”
Tallon looked at her as if he were appraising a Browning First Edition. Seemingly satisfied, he extended his hand.
“I am pleased to meet you. Please call me Bram.”
“Bram? I’ve never heard that name before. Is it a family name?”
“It is short for Abraham my dear,” he replied, smiling. “You will of course recall that the author of the novel Dracula was named...”
Margot laughed.
“Of course, Bram Stoker. Was his short for Abraham, too? I never knew that.”
Lamont laughed.
“Abraham always tells women to call him that. He thinks it makes him mysterious.” He then stepped closer and leaned down to speak to Tallon more quietly. “I have a matter of some delicacy to speak with you about. Do you have a moment?”
“Certainly,” Tallon replied, intrigued. “If your lovely companion would not mind hanging the sign...?”
Margot nodded and quickly walked to the door, turned the sign hanging from it so that the “closed” faced the street, and then came back. By the time she had returned, Cranston had apparently already discussed some of the details of the case with Abraham. The small man seemed deep in thought already.
“Hmmm...those are rare and interesting pieces. I would have given half of the books in this shop for one of them...”
“Yes, Abraham,” Lamont interrupted, “but where do you think that Embry could have gotten them? I don’t know of anyone else in the city that would sell such a thing - do you think he purchased them abroad?”
Tallon shook his head.
“To find such things abroad, one must know where to look. Embry must have gotten them from someone here in the States.”
“Do you know of anyone else that might sell them, Bram?” Margot asked.
Abraham smiled at her use of his nickname.
“Yes...YES! I can think of someone!” He excitedly wrote on a scrap of paper on the desk and handed it to Margot. “This man came in about two months ago and introduced himself to me. He said that he had just returned from the Orient with rare books. I purchased a few from him, mostly ancient Buddhist texts, but there were some examples from other parts of the world. There was a marvelous Persian-“
“Abraham.”
Bram stopped and looked at Cranston sheepishly.
“Yes...sorry. Anyway, he never mentioned having books of this rarity, but then he might have correctly assumed that I could not afford them.”
Lamont took the paper from Margot and read the name and address. He nodded, looking up again at Tallon.
“Your help has been invaluable, Abraham.”
Tallon smiled.
“Anything for an old friend, Lamont.”
Margot bent down and kissed Tallon on the cheek.
“Nice to meet you, Bram.”
Tallon blushed and nodded mutely.
They left the store and took another cab a quick ten blocks to the address that Tallon had given them. After the cab had left, they stood before the door of a large blank stone building. A simple brass plaque next to it read, “James Barston, LTD.”
Margot reached for the door, but Lamont grabbed her hand before she could touch it.
“Wait a moment, Margot. There is something very wrong here.”
Margot looked at Cranston in surprise.
“What’s the matter, Lamont?” she asked.
He returned her gaze sadly.
“Murder,” he stated flatly.
And then he vanished.
Chapter Four
“Weston has identified the books, but has not managed to identify the missing object on the wall.”
Cranston walked across the ornate rug in the paneled study of Cranston Manor to a leather chair. He sat down abruptly, his fingertips pressed together. Margot was seated on a small couch perpendicular to him.
“What books could be so valuable that they can justify such a horrible crime?” She asked, leaning closer to Lamont.
“That is what puzzles me, Margot. The books are valuable, but not in a monetary way.”
“What do you mean?”
“For example, one is the collected writings of a very great mystic. He was said to have found true enlightenment and recorded his spiritual journey in seven identical books that he then, through his followers, spread throughout the known world.”
Cranston lowered his hands and looked at Margot.
“Every copy was supposedly destroyed in wars throughout the centuries, the last perishing during the French Revolution. I have no idea how Embry came to possess such a treasure.”
“Yes, Lamont,” Margot said, “but you said that they weren’t treasure, didn’t you?”
“To be sure, Margot,” Lamont replied. “The books are of such a rarity that they lack the notoriety to be worth a large sum of money. The treasure would be to the student of the mind. The Mystic was said to have gone far beyond the simple abilities taught to me in the Orient. He was said to have mastered the fundamental forces of the universe itself.”
“Then why steal them?”
“Because,” Cranston replied, “to someone who was a student of the mind, they would be worth any price. I would pay a fantastic sum for them myself.”
“What other books are missing?”
“That is also interesting,” Cranston answered. “The other two books are of a similar age. One is an intricate record of astrological observations from Ancient China, and the other is the historical record of a Buddhist monastery in Tibet.”
“A monastery?” Margot asked.
“Yes. I actually was a guest there for some time in my youth. It was known for the depth of knowledge of its monks, men who often were called upon to resolve disputes and bring answers to difficult problems.”
Cranston stood abruptly.
“The thing I don’t understand is how Embry, though surely an educated and discerning man, came into possession of three artifacts of such rare distinction. His interests were in the arts and music.”
He walked to the window. Margot stood and joined him.
“And what about the mysterious object on the wall, Lamont? Do you think it was a work of art or a photograph?”
“I don’t know, Margot. But we can find out more about those books and where Embry acquired them.”
With that, he turned and handed Margot her coat from off of the rack by the door.
“We’re going to see an old friend of mine.”
With Schrevy across town carrying a regular fare, the two were forced to take an ordinary cab into the older section of the city. This prevented Margot from asking questions about their destination or the “old friend” to whom Cranston was referring.
When they finally arrived at their destination, Margot stepped out of the taxi to see a shabby old shop with tattered books in the window. The swinging sign over the door read “Tallon Books - Procurement and Sales of Rare Texts”.
Lamont paid the cabbie and the two entered the old storefront. Margot was struck by the musty smell of old paper the moment they entered. Most of the shop was neatly organized on various low wall shelves and a few stand-alone bookcases set around the room. Some of the shelves had meticulously handwritten signs that read “First Editions” or reflected the books’ nations of origin. The desk at the front of the store, however, was obscured with several loose stacks of books that presumably were being processed. Margot saw no shopkeeper.
“Cranston, it’s good to see you.”
Margot almost jumped with surprise, as the high-pitched male voice came from the stacks of books on the desk. Cranston stepped forward with his hand extended as Margot finally saw who had spoken. It was a man about five and a half feet tall confined to a wheelchair. He rolled himself from behind the stack of books that had obscured him and took Cranston’s hand, shaking it vigorously.
“Professor Tallon, it’s always a pleasure to see you as well,” Lamont smiled warmly and then gestured to Margot. “This is my friend, Margot Lane.”
Tallon looked at her as if he were appraising a Browning First Edition. Seemingly satisfied, he extended his hand.
“I am pleased to meet you. Please call me Bram.”
“Bram? I’ve never heard that name before. Is it a family name?”
“It is short for Abraham my dear,” he replied, smiling. “You will of course recall that the author of the novel Dracula was named...”
Margot laughed.
“Of course, Bram Stoker. Was his short for Abraham, too? I never knew that.”
Lamont laughed.
“Abraham always tells women to call him that. He thinks it makes him mysterious.” He then stepped closer and leaned down to speak to Tallon more quietly. “I have a matter of some delicacy to speak with you about. Do you have a moment?”
“Certainly,” Tallon replied, intrigued. “If your lovely companion would not mind hanging the sign...?”
Margot nodded and quickly walked to the door, turned the sign hanging from it so that the “closed” faced the street, and then came back. By the time she had returned, Cranston had apparently already discussed some of the details of the case with Abraham. The small man seemed deep in thought already.
“Hmmm...those are rare and interesting pieces. I would have given half of the books in this shop for one of them...”
“Yes, Abraham,” Lamont interrupted, “but where do you think that Embry could have gotten them? I don’t know of anyone else in the city that would sell such a thing - do you think he purchased them abroad?”
Tallon shook his head.
“To find such things abroad, one must know where to look. Embry must have gotten them from someone here in the States.”
“Do you know of anyone else that might sell them, Bram?” Margot asked.
Abraham smiled at her use of his nickname.
“Yes...YES! I can think of someone!” He excitedly wrote on a scrap of paper on the desk and handed it to Margot. “This man came in about two months ago and introduced himself to me. He said that he had just returned from the Orient with rare books. I purchased a few from him, mostly ancient Buddhist texts, but there were some examples from other parts of the world. There was a marvelous Persian-“
“Abraham.”
Bram stopped and looked at Cranston sheepishly.
“Yes...sorry. Anyway, he never mentioned having books of this rarity, but then he might have correctly assumed that I could not afford them.”
Lamont took the paper from Margot and read the name and address. He nodded, looking up again at Tallon.
“Your help has been invaluable, Abraham.”
Tallon smiled.
“Anything for an old friend, Lamont.”
Margot bent down and kissed Tallon on the cheek.
“Nice to meet you, Bram.”
Tallon blushed and nodded mutely.
They left the store and took another cab a quick ten blocks to the address that Tallon had given them. After the cab had left, they stood before the door of a large blank stone building. A simple brass plaque next to it read, “James Barston, LTD.”
Margot reached for the door, but Lamont grabbed her hand before she could touch it.
“Wait a moment, Margot. There is something very wrong here.”
Margot looked at Cranston in surprise.
“What’s the matter, Lamont?” she asked.
He returned her gaze sadly.
“Murder,” he stated flatly.
And then he vanished.
Chapter Four
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