Book of Stolen Tales by D. J. McIntosh Read Free Book Online Page A

only one volume of the five inside the gold covers, the first one published in 1634.”
    With an exasperated sigh, she fished among some papers on her desk, pulled out a sheet, and handed it to me. “Here’s the record of consignment.” She ran her finger underneath a sentence. “It clearly states all five volumes were offered.”
    â€œI don’t give a damn what it says. Your ‘reliable’ consignor falsified the record then. I know there was only one volume. I checked.” I clicked on my phone and brought up the photo image of the frontispiece I’d taken. “Here, I took a photo.”
    She backed away a few steps and crossed her arms. “John, that doesn’t prove anything. We’re good mates, you and I. But don’t try putting one over on me. This situation is bad enough without you … distorting it.”
    I was on the verge of flinging back a retort when I remembered the tiny scratches I’d seen on the wooden box. “It’s customary for any house to check on an article before putting it up for sale, right?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd did you in this case?”
    â€œStop giving me the third degree. Of course I did.”
    â€œYou just looked inside the wooden box though, correct? You didn’t actually open the covers.”
    Amy wilted, her face falling for an instant; then she sidestepped my question. “This discussion is getting us nowhere.” She glanced at her watch. “In five minutes I’ve got to go on deck. I imagine you’ll want to see Ewan to sort this out?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œI’ll make sure he’ll be at the library tomorrow.”
    â€œThat’s good—thanks.”
    â€œI’ll let you know, but I can’t talk to him directly until I’ve cleared everything with Sherrods’ solicitors. Now I’ve got to run. I don’t want to look a total wreck when I break the bad news to my boss. You’ll have to excuse me.”
    She turned to leave, her shoulders slumped, and said despondently, “John, I’m shattered. And so sorry you’re in this position. But now that this is a legal issue it’s best we don’t talk more about it.”
    I wasn’t happy with Amy’s dodging the question of whether or not I had a complete book but my heart went out to her all the same. She gave me a quick hug. “I’m on your side, Amy. Don’t forget, if it’s in my power to clear this whole thing up, I will.”
    With a beleaguered smile she hurried out the door.

Six

    T he sun vanished behind a heavy bank of cloud, and London, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, felt desolate. Amy hadn’t actually seen the book itself, of that I was sure. Had she also been warned it was dangerous, or had she trusted Ewan Fraser too much? At this point it didn’t matter. It was my word against hers. Amy and I liked each other, but she was in a very junior position. The entire issue would swiftly move to the chief curator and Sherrods’ lawyers. If they could divert some of the blame by fingering me, they wouldn’t hesitate.
    I had no real proof the theft in my hotel room even took place. If anyone had noticed a man lingering in front of the hotel, they’d hardly have paid him any heed. I could see the wheels churning at Sherrods right now. They’d claim that I’d stolen it myself with the intent to sell it on the black market. And worse, with the book gone, who was to say the copy they offered at auction was the same one listed by Interpol?
    I had a prearranged appointment with Arthur Newhouse, the solicitor who originally wrote to me, to hand over the book, assuming I was the successful bidder. I hadn’t told him about the theft and fully intended to keep the appointment to learn the identity of my anonymous client and unravel this mystery.
    En route to his office I stopped off at a couple of bookstores to see