Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

Then Mr. Smith returned to his perfect poise. Pleasantly, he said, “I propose one hundred thousand dollars for the book.”

Charles paused. “It’s a very rare book, of course, but I wouldn’t have asked that much.”

“I have made inquiries into your business, Mr. Beale, and I don’t feel that negotiations are necessary.”

“But-”

“And this is the only offer that I’m authorized to make.”

Charles gestured with his empty hands. “Then by all means. I accept, very gratefully.”

He re-wrapped the book and held it out.

Mr. Smith received it, and in return handed him the brick-shaped package. “I hope you find that in order.”

Charles opened the end. “This is cash!” He recovered. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t expected it.”

“It is one hundred thousand dollars.”

“Mr. Smith, I’m very sorry-a cash transaction of this size, I would need some idea of who you are-”

“I hope you can deal with the formalities. I would prefer that there is no idea of who I am.”

“I see.” Charles smiled. “Yes, I can deal with the formalities. And please tell me, do you have the other volumes in the set? I suppose there would be an Iliad and an Aeneid?”

“They will all be together. Thank you, Mr. Beale. It has been a pleasure.”

“Thank you very much,” Charles said. “And please give Her Majesty my regards.”

Mr. Smith chortled as only an Englishman of his bearing could.

“What a romantic thought. But if I ever were to see her, I will.”

Charles stopped ten feet out from the front door. He still had the package in his hand.

“The deal is good?” Angelo appeared from the empty air.

“Um, yes, I think so.”

“That is the cash?”

“Yes, it is. How did you know it would be cash?”

“A deal is always cash. Did you count it?”

“I didn’t. It would have taken too long.”

Angelo’s eyes were on the package, but he managed a brief look of scorn at Charles.

“You don’t even count it?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Don’t carry it out in your hand.”

Charles opened his empty briefcase and put the package inside. “All right. We’ll just go back to the train station, then, and head home.”

Angelo swept the street with a quick glance and then fixed again on the briefcase in Charles’s hand.

Dorothy was parked in front of the deserted train station. The sky was moonless black.

“Hello, dear,” Charles said. He took the driver’s seat. “We did make it home.” Angelo slid silently into the back.

“Thank you,” she said. “Did you sell your book?”

“I did. It was all very interesting.”

It was 2:30 a.m. as they crossed the Potomac and ten minutes later when they stopped in front of the bookstore.

“Here we are,” Charles said to Dorothy. The street and the shop were as dark and empty as they could be. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“I’ll come in.”

Angelo followed with the book satchel. Charles turned on the light and put his code into the alarm.

“Thank you for coming, Angelo,” he said. “I’ll put those books down in the basement for Morgan.”

“Good night,” Dorothy said as Angelo disappeared.

The desk was empty except for its computer and one volume that hadn’t been returned to its shelf. Charles set the book satchel next to them. Then he opened the briefcase and took the package out and unwrapped it. There were ten banded stacks. It took over a minute to count one stack of one hundred hundred-dollar bills.

He didn’t count the others. He wrapped the stacks back together and set the package on a shelf behind a row of books.

He looked closer at the volume on the desk. It was the Dante; he opened it and read a few lines at random. For all the gold that is beneath the moon,

Or ever has been, of these weary souls

Could never make a single one respose.

Then he put it up on the same shelf as the package of money.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Charles turned the alarm on and the light off. He and Dorothy walked out into the night. The streetlamp sent their shadows flying.

Charles stretched his fingers as he opened Dorothy’s car door. “I’ve been carrying that briefcase all day. It’s nice to have my hands free.”

On the third floor, Angelo’s light turned off.

“One hundred thousand?” Dorothy was shocked.

“It was the only offer he was authorized to make.”

“Who was he?”

“Just Mr. Smith.”

“That’s how he signed the check?”

“No check, dear. Just hundred-dollar bills. A thousand of them.”

Dorothy was very shocked.

“Where is it?”

“In the basement at the store.”

They reached their house. Charles parked on the street in front.

“Does Angelo know?”

“Know what?”

“That there is a hundred thousand dollars of cash just downstairs from him.”

“Um, not necessarily.”

“Why didn’t you bring it home?”

“I thought it would be safer locked in the basement of the store.”

“Is it just lying out?”

“It’s not lying. It’s telling the truth.”

“Charles.”

“It’s on the shelf behind the Dante.”

They were finally settling into bed at three o’clock in the morning.

“You could sleep late tomorrow,” Dorothy said.

“Maybe I will. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“You always will be, dear.”

“I’m too tired to think what that means. The only thing I have to do tomorrow is to call the police detective.”

“Did you see Mr. Horton?”

“Cane. Edmund Cane. Of Horton’s. Yes.”

“Did he tell you anything about the desk?”

“No, except that he never told the FBI anything about it. But someone must have.”

“Told them what?”

“I’m too tired to think what that means either. Oh, Dorothy, what was Derek doing? What was going on?”

“Someone must know.”

“I keep thinking about the conversations I had with him. Especially the last one.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just a game we had started. It was about how we lived our lives, but it was mostly just an exercise in repartee. That’s what I thought, but suddenly I wonder what he really meant.” He turned off the light. “How I wish I could have one more talk with him.”

“So, Charles, how do you like the game now?”

“I don’t, Derek. It’s quite unfair that you’ve put me up to it. I’d rather not be playing.”

“I think you need to be. We’ll see if the principles you’ve spouted all these years will stand up to a real test.”

“Is that the point, Derek? Is that why you put the papers in the book? To embroil me in all of this?”

“It seems to have worked.”

“But surely you didn’t expect to be killed. Was it just a common burglary, or was it one of your victims?”

“You’re only imagining me, Charles. You know I can’t answer that.”

“Were you really a blackmailer, Derek? Was that the game you were playing, and your ‘situation’ at the office?”

“You don’t sound content, Charles. You must be losing our game.”

“But you’re dead, Derek, so I don’t think you’ve won it.”

“No. It isn’t pleasant here. The circles go deeper and deeper and I still haven’t found my depth.”

“Who killed you, Derek?”

“Have I passed that circle yet? I believe I have. The murderers. Yes, that was one or two back. I hope I’m not headed to the ninth circle, to the circle of traitors.”

“Who was the other person you were blackmailing? The person who tried to buy your desk? The person Patrick White had helping him. Who was it, Derek? Was that who killed you?”