Chapter 34

“Close the door behind you,” I whispered back to Aaron.

I had been wondering how he was going to do that, considering the trouble we had had opening it, but I was pleased to find that there was an actual handle on the inside of the secret door, as well as a thumb-turn for the lock. After all, there was no need to hide the door or its hardware from anyone who was already in the room. Aaron pulled, and the door swung shut. Then he seemed to have a sudden change of heart and hurriedly reopened the door and stepped back into the gallery.

Observing this strange behavior, I didn’t know what to make of it—surely Aaron was not planning to retreat just when victory was in sight—until he stepped back into the dark room and again closed the door.

“What was that all about?” I whispered.

“Re-hung the painting on the door. If they come in and find us gone, they won’t immediately see that we’re in here.”

I looked at Aaron in a new light. I was impressed. He was starting to show the instincts of a fine burglar.

“Good for you,” I said. “I should’ve thought of that myself. We may have to raise your status from ‘dangerous amateur’ to ‘promising apprentice’.”

If Aaron blushed at this faint praise, it was too dark for me to tell.

I turned the lock and breathed a little sigh of relief. Then I asked Aaron for my little flashlight, which was still in his pocket. “Stay here,” I told him, “while I look around a bit.”

I shined the narrow beam around our immediate surroundings and found that we were standing in a narrow aisle connecting the gallery wall door with the center of what appeared to be a windowless workroom, the length of the gallery and maybe eight feet wide. On our left was some kind of workbench, on our right a table and cabinets. As I moved forward, I could see that the room was a long rectangle, and I was crossing its narrow dimension at about the center. In front of me I thought I saw the door I had mentioned to Aaron, although the flashlight beam was too weak to cast much light on that far wall.

Turning left into the center aisle and feeling my way so as not to bump into any sharp objects, I directed the flashlight toward the top of the workbench on my left. Almost the first thing the light landed on caused me a sharp intake of breath. There on the bench, lying peacefully on a large piece of red velvet, was a beautiful old violin. Although it looked very much like the one I had almost stolen from Aaron’s suite, as well as the one I had mistakenly tried to steal from the Sanders gallery an hour or so earlier, I was somehow certain that the instrument beneath my flashlight’s beam must be the real thing.

Of course, this time I was not going to assume I was correct. This time I had brought along an invaluable accessory, the world’s foremost expert on the authenticity of this particular violin. I made my way back to where Aaron was still standing by the gallery door, took his hand in mine, and slowly led him around to where I had found the violin. His violin, I fervently hoped.

As we approached the front of the workbench, my heart raced and I began to perspire. I suddenly realized clearly, for the first time since the adventure had begun, that I was not just hoping that this was the real violin because it would lead to a hundred thousand dollar payoff, more than I had ever made from a single job, lawful or unlawful. Nor was it because I could finally be done with this escapade that I had never really wanted to begin. No, I was hoping even more fervently that Aaron, who wanted so badly to recover his treasure from the man who had taken it from him that he was willing to risk his career, if not his life, for it, would finally see that desire realized.

We stopped in front of the workbench and again I trained the beam of my flashlight on the object in repose on its bed of velvet. As soon as I did I heard a small gasp behind me as Aaron reached out and picked up the violin. I handed him the flashlight so he could examine it as carefully as he wished. He first ran the beam of light slowly over the violin’s top, then along its sides and back. Finally he peered inside at the all-important label. When he was finished, he handed the flashlight back to me.

I couldn’t see Aaron’s face, so I didn’t know whether it displayed a look of triumph or disappointment.

“Well?” I whispered. “Is this the one?”

Aaron leaned over and kissed me lightly on the forehead. “You’ve done it,” he said. “You’ve found my violin.”