Murder in the Bookshop. Carolyn Wells
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‘About eight. And as I was back there something like half-past eleven, I’m assuming Mr Balfour was attacked between those hours. Now who did it? For if it was someone who wanted that book, it is conceivable that was the motive for the crime; but if the murderer was someone who knew nothing of rare books, then we have two criminals to look for.’
‘Where was the book?’
‘Like Mr Sewell, I can’t consider that question relevant. I will only say that it was in the shop when I left there, and when I returned it was not there.’
At this moment, Captain Burnet came back. He looked a little excited.
‘I called the morgue,’ he said, ‘and they will look for the book. It hasn’t been noticed so far. But I learned some more vital evidence. May I ask, Mr Ramsay, why your belongings are all packed up? Your clothes in trunks and suitcases, your books in boxes and your rooms partly dismantled?’
‘Yes,’ and Ramsay spoke indifferently. ‘I planned to go away—on a trip.’
‘A longish trip, I take it, from the amount of luggage made ready. I fear we cannot let you go tomorrow, Mr Ramsay. What was to be your destination?’
‘I planned a short stay in Boston where I have some business, and then I expected to go abroad.’
‘On a book-buying trip for Mr Balfour?’
‘No, on business of my own.’
‘Then, you were leaving Mr Balfour’s employ?’
‘I had intended that, yes.’
‘Did Mr Balfour know of this move?’
‘He did.’
‘And approve of it?’
‘No, he did not approve of it,’ Alli broke in; ‘Philip didn’t want him to go at all. In fact, he wouldn’t agree that Mr Ramsay was going. He just said, “Oh, nonsense,” whenever it was spoken of.’
‘Will you explain this situation, Mr Ramsay?’ Inspector Manton asked. ‘Your belongings all packed to go away, yet your employer did not want you to leave him. What was luring you away from this position, which seems ideal for a man of your tastes and ability?’
Keith Ramsay hesitated. Then he said, slowly, ‘I had the offer of a more advantageous position.’
‘More lucrative?’
‘No, not that. But more desirable for other reasons. I cannot feel, however, that these queries have anything to do with the crimes we are considering. Mr Balfour wanted me to stay on here because I can be of help to him in his library. But that has nothing to do with the matter of his murder or with the disappearance of his rare book.’
‘We are not entirely sure of that.’ Manton looked grave. ‘A book that is worth anything like a hundred thousand dollars is as much a motive for crime as a great diamond or emerald.’
‘That is true, Inspector, but as I am innocent of murder or theft, I cannot see why I am, or seem to be, under suspicion.’
‘I do not say you are under suspicion, Mr Ramsay, but I do want you to defend your actions. The question, at present, centres round your visit with Mr Balfour to the Sewell bookshop this evening. I still feel you have not made clear the reasons for your getting in by the window.’
‘That’s nothing,’ Sewell declared, ‘my customers are welcome to come in by the window if they like. I wish I had been there when Mr Balfour came.’
‘Where was this wonderful book you are talking about? Was it hidden in your shop?’
‘Now, Inspector, don’t talk like that. What’s the use of my having a snug hidy-hole, if I tell where it is? I have several rather clever places of concealment for books that I want to conceal. But if I tell of them, they are secret no longer. But the book was hidden in my shop and now it is missing. And it must be found. I am sure it was stolen by the murderer of Mr Balfour, so I think the two mysteries may be treated as one.’
‘How many people knew of this rare volume?’
‘Not many,’ Sewell returned. ‘I heard about it and had to have a long correspondence with its owner, before I could induce him to part with it.’
‘My good Heavens!’ exclaimed Alli Balfour, ‘we must notify Guy.’
‘Who is Guy?’ Manton inquired.
‘He is Mr Balfour’s son, the child of his first wife.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In the city. He lives down in Greenwich Village somewhere. We must let him know about his father. Keith, will you see to it?’
‘It will be attended to,’ said Manton. ‘Captain, you telephone, will you? What is the address, Mrs Balfour?’
She told him, and he asked a few questions about the young man.
‘No, he doesn’t live with us,’ Alli told him. ‘Oh, yes, we are all friendly, perfectly so. But Guy belongs to the younger set—not exactly Bohemian, but modern and—er—informal. The sort of people Mr Balfour didn’t enjoy. So it was arranged that Guy should live by himself. His father gave him a liberal allowance.’
‘And is young Mr Balfour interested in rare books?’
‘More or less. It is difficult to be in the house with an enthusiastic collector and not fall under the spell of the old volumes. I knew almost nothing about it when I married Mr Balfour, but I have learned a little, and now that the library is mine, I want to keep it up and care for it and add to it, as my husband would have done had he lived. I sincerely hope Mr Ramsay will stay for a time and advise me about the collection.’
‘You know then the conditions of Mr Balfour’s will? The great library will be yours?’
‘Yes; with the exception of his son, and some charities and minor bequests, I am the sole legatee.’
‘Mr Guy Balfour is in the habit of coming here often?’
‘Yes, he is frequently here for dinner or to spend the night. He and his father were congenial in many ways.’
‘How old is the young man?’
‘About thirty-five.’
‘You are not as old as that yourself?’
‘No, I am twenty-five. Mr Balfour, my husband, was nearly fifty-six. But the difference in our ages seemed negligible, we were so at one in our interests and in our tastes and temperament.’
In response to Burnet’s call, Guy Balfour came.
Of medium height and graceful carriage, he entered the room and, seeing no vacant seat near Alli, fetched a chair from the other side of the room and placed it beside her.
Then he sat down, took her hand in his, and said, ‘Tell me all about it.’
He took no notice of the others and leaned toward his step-mother, awaiting her response.
A handsome chap, with fair hair that curled and dark blue eyes that seemed both wise and mysterious. Yet his aplomb bordered on insolence and did not at all please Inspector Manton.
‘I will give you the details, Mr Balfour,’ he stated firmly. ‘You must realize that this is an official inquiry, not an informal gathering. When did you see your father last?’
‘Why, I don’t know—a few days ago, I guess. When was I up here last, Alli?’
‘Wednesday night, I think. Or maybe Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday it was. And now it’s Friday. I think that’s the way of it, Inspector.’
‘You were here, then, last Tuesday evening?’
‘To the best of my memory and belief, yes.’
Guy’s