Chapter 19

Hailing a cab, Holmes directed the driver to take us to Baker Street. After we had settled into our seats, he explained, “I just have to collect something for Dr. Smith.”

Holmes words stirred my memory, and I said, “In my bag, you will find the parcel which you asked me to deliver to Smith a week or so ago. If you wouldn’t mind . . .”

My friend laughed, “I had quite forgotten about that. I would be happy to fetch it for you, Watson.”

When we arrived at our lodgings, Holmes dashed upstairs, leaving the front door open, while I remained in the cab. In less than three minutes, he was once again seated opposite me. He handed me the smaller package. I say smaller because I noticed that under his arm he was carrying the large parcel which he had brought home with him to Baker Street several days ago.

Once we were underway, I broached the subject of how he had ascertained the location of the missing manuscript, but Holmes declined to answer my question. He would say only, “We have come this far. I think I deserve to ring down the curtain with a bit of a flourish, wouldn’t you agree?”

Well aware of his penchant for the theatrical, I decided to humor my friend and possess my soul in patience until he had decided the time was right.

When we arrived at the museum, we were informed Dr. Smith was in, so we headed directly for his office.

Seated behind his desk, the historian rose when we entered. “I do hope that you bring good news, Mr. Holmes.”

Looking at the academic, I could see that he appeared more haggard than I had ever seen him, and it was readily apparent that the missing manuscript had resulted in more than a few sleepless nights as well as a great deal of anxiety.

Holmes replied, “I am optimistic we will soon put this whole unpleasant business behind us. In the meantime, Watson and I have brought you something we hope may bring you some small degree of joy.”

I must say I was quite touched that Holmes had included me, despite the fact that I had no idea what we had brought the good doctor.

Holmes motioned for me to hand the package to Smith.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice rising. “It’s not the . . .”

“No, Doctor Smith. It is not the Nowell Codex, but it is something that I hope will bring you many hours of pleasure as you peruse it. Now open it,” said Holmes.

Smith tore open the paper and there was the copy of Erewhon by Samuel Butler that I had obtained for Holmes from Madame Cocilovo-Kozzi and her husband.

I could see Dr. Smith was touched by the gift.

“Mr. Holmes, I don’t know how to thank you. I am quite fond of Butler, but I already have several copies of Erewhon.”

“I am well aware of that,” replied Holmes, “but I do not think you have a signed first edition.”

Smith carefully opened the book and gazed at the title page with a mixture of fondness and astonishment. “How could you have known?”

Holmes laughed and said, “I should think the answer is fairly obvious.”

“Not to me,” I said.

“Nor me,” added Smith.

Pointing to the bookcase behind Smith, Holmes said, “On that bottom shelf, all the way to the left is a copy of The Way of All Flesh; there on your desk is The Authoress of the Odyssey, which has taken the place of Butler’s Shakespeare’s Sonnets Reconsidered. Three books by the same author might suggest a certain fondness, but on past visits here I have seen other titles by Mr. Butler, both on your desk and on your shelves.”

“My word, Mr. Holmes.”

“Wait until he starts to read your mind then you will be really amazed,” I offered.

Holmes then brought us back to the present, “Now, if we may, I should like to pay one more visit to the rare book room.”

As we were approaching the King’s Library a few minutes later, I saw the guard sitting at his desk. He looked up as we approached, “Ah, Dr. Smith, what brings you down here? And Mr. Holmes, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

Holmes said, “You are looking well, Mr. Green. Allow me to present my friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson.”

After we had exchanged pleasantries, Green unlocked the door for us, giving Holmes a rather wry look.

“Is there something amiss, Mr. Green?” asked Holmes.

“Normally, I inspect all packages going into the room, but as you’re with Dr. Smith, I don’t suppose that will be necessary.”

“Quite right,” said Dr. Smith.

“Nonsense,” interjected Holmes. “Please do your duty, and treat me as you would any other visitor.” And with that he handed his parcel to Green, who placed it on his desk and carefully unwrapped it, revealing an oversized Volume I of Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary.

“Blimey!” exclaimed Green, “Another copy of Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary! This book just can’t seem to stay out of this room.”

I then remembered the academic who had visited the room for several days shortly before the Nowell Codex disappeared. I also recalled Holmes dispatching me to obtain the book’s measurements. I watched as Green examined the book, flipping some of the pages, before returning it to Holmes.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you Mr. Holmes.”

“No trouble at all,” replied my friend. We then entered the room, and Holmes promptly placed the book on the nearest reading table.

“Now, Dr. Smith, I am going to tell you exactly what I think happened to the Beowulf manuscript.” Moving to the case where the manuscript had been kept, Holmes reached into his jacket pocket. “I seem to have forgot my lens. Is there one here, Dr. Smith?”

“Let me check.” Smith then rummaged through the drawers of several desks before turning to us with an apologetic look. “There are usually two or three here, but not to worry, I have one in my desk. Just let me fetch it.”

After Smith had departed, I looked at Holmes and said, “What are you up to, old man?”

“Just a bit of the theatrical that you accuse me of being so fond of. Now, do hand me your pen knife?”

I reached into my pocket, and it wasn’t there. “In the early morning rush, I must have left it at home.”

“See if Mr. Green has one, would you?”

I went out to the guard and relayed Holmes’ request. “I have one here somewhere,” he replied as he sifted through the detritus that had collected in his various desk drawers. While he was searching, I heard footsteps in the hall and turned to see Dr. Smith returning with the lens. “Would you happen to have a pen knife as well? Holmes is looking for one.”

“Certainly,” he replied, pulling a sterling silver blade from his pocket. “This was a gift from my father, and I am never without it.”

We re-entered the rare book room and found Holmes lounging languidly in one of the reading chairs.

As we entered, he stood up and took the lens and knife from Smith. “You may recall that on our first visit here after the book was discovered missing, I examined the case, paying particular attention to the lock. Dr. Smith, I encourage you to take another look at the lock.”

After handing Smith his lens, Holmes stepped aside. Smith then stepped to the case and the only word that can describe the sound the man made next is a shriek. Turning my attention to the case, I saw a weathered, leather-bound volume reposing on the brilliant green velvet that lined the bottom of the display.”

After tasking a moment to compose himself, Smith finally began to utter an intelligible sentence. “But how, Mr. Holmes? Where did this come from? You are truly a magician.”

At the last word, I saw a brief smile on Holmes face and rather than say anything, I allowed him his moment of adulation.

“Let me begin at the beginning,” said Holmes. “When we first discussed the missing Codex, you made a point of telling me how dependable Mr. Green is. In point of fact, you saw for yourself just a few minutes ago how diligent he is. That set me to thinking that anyone attempting to spirit the book out of here would run a terrible risk.

“So they set about employing a stratagem in order to create the illusion that the book had been taken.”

“How could they do that?” Smith asked.

Pointing to the copy he had brought, Holmes said, “Watson, if you would be so kind as to hand me that copy of Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary.”

I went to the table and picked it up, only to discover that it was far lighter than I had expected. “Holmes, this book doesn’t weigh nearly as much as it should.”

“And there we have it,” my friend replied.

Taking the book, he thumbed through a number of pages and then he turned to show us the last page. As he flipped it over, I saw that the last three-quarters of the several hundred pages had been hollowed out.

“During my investigation into rare book dealers, I discovered that a man—the same man, in fact—had purchased two copies of Volume I of Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary—without purchasing a second volume—which was also readily available in both instances. That set me to thinking. Why would someone require two copies of the same book? And for quite a pretty penny, I might add. Obviously, one had to be disposable. On an unannounced visit here, I examined the copy of the dictionary that was residing on the shelf and discovered the Nowell Codex had been carefully concealed inside the first volume.”

Turning to Smith, Holmes said, “Dr. Smith, I owe you an apology. I could have eased your mind two weeks ago, but there are other, far more important, forces at play here. I needed you to keep believing the Beowulf manuscript was missing because I did not know if they were watching you. Any change in your demeanor might have communicated to them the book was safe.”

“Mr. Holmes, if you say you had a good reason, I trust you. That you have recovered it is the important thing.”

“But why two dictionaries, Holmes?” I asked.

“During the first several visits by the bogus professor, he brought the uncut dictionary. If Mr. Green had examined it, as I am certain he did, he would discover nothing unusual. Eventually, I suspect, the dull routine of daily existence caught up with Mr. Green. Looking at the same book day after day, he saw what he had already seen several times—more importantly, he saw what he expected to see.

“On the professor’s final visit, he took a chance. I am certain Mr. Green gave the volume a cursory examination, as he had done every day that week. However, on that day, the professor entered carrying the hollowed out dictionary. He placed the Codex inside it and placed it back on the shelf, he then left carrying your copy of the dictionary—complete and whole.”

“But why, Mr. Holmes?”

“To keep me busy. To distract me from something far more crucial.” Looking at his watch, Holmes said, “And that something is calling to me now. Dr. Smith, we must be on our way. However, I would suggest that you purchase a new display case for the Codex and have it fitted with shatterproof glass and the latest Chubb lock. I hear they are almost impossible to pick.”

With that, we left Dr. Smith in the rare book room, bid farewell to Silas Green and made our way out of the museum.

When we were safely ensconced in the cab and heading for the Marble Arch, I said to Holmes, “I assume Mr. Green was a partner in today’s production?”

Rather than answer, Holmes merely smiled enigmatically and said, “As were you?”

“Me?”

Grinning, Holmes reached into his pocket, pulled out a small object and said, “I believe this belongs to you.” With that he returned my own pen knife to me. “I took the liberty of ‘borrowing’ it from your pocket earlier this morning.”

“Holmes, you rascal.”

Everything had fallen into place but one thing. After a few minutes, I said, “I understand why you did everything you did, but I still think keeping Dr. Smith in the dark still seems rather cruel in retrospect.”

My friend smiled and said softly, “Like you, Dr. Smith cannot mask his emotions. I assure you it gave me no pleasure to keep the location of the book from him, but had he known—and acted differently—things might have taken a very nasty turn.

“I can only hope that the rest of this case resolves itself as smoothly as that aspect did.”

“You sound as though you are still concerned.”

“Consider, Watson. These men have threatened my life, killed Langlois and kidnapped Mycroft. I shall remain ‘concerned’—and vigilant—until justice has been served.”