The Wanderer in Unknown Realms by John Connolly Read Free Book Online

shilling for his troubles, having nothing smaller, and sent him on his way. I wondered if I could claim the shilling from Quayle as an expense. Perhaps I should have asked for a receipt.
    The telegram was from Fawnsley. Its brevity made clear that he was paying by the word and counting every one. There was no greeting, merely an insincere expression of regret that no confirmed address could be found for Dunwidge & Daughter, although he had heard that they operated from somewhere near the King’s Road in Chelsea, and a final, terse addition:
    TEN THOUSAND POUNDS WITHDRAWN FROM MAULDING FUNDS LAST MONTH STOP NOT APPROVED BY QUAYLE STOP INVESTIGATE STOP
    Ten thousand pounds was more than a small fortune. I had found a safe in Maulding’s library, but I had no way of accessing its contents. It was possible that the money was still in there, but if Maulding had withdrawn it without going through Quayle, as he was perfectly entitled to do, even if it was not according to his habit, this suggested that the funds were required for some purpose that he did not wish to share with his lawyer, and one with a hint of urgency to it.
    In my experience, unusual patterns of spending gave rise to certain speculations about the reason for them. For example, agradual seepage of money, slowly rising in quantity and instances of occurrence, might lead one to suspect a gambling problem; larger but more consistent sums suggested a newfound interest in a woman, or a tart. A single significant payment, particularly the kind that a man chose not to share with his lawyer, might be the consequence of an investment opportunity of dubious legality, or an effort to make a problem go away.
    But from what I knew of Lionel Maulding, he had no particular interest in gambling or women and therefore was unlikely to be troubled by the problems that might arise from overindulgence in either. No, the ten thousand pounds suggested a purchase of some kind, but Maulding already had one huge house: he didn’t need another. Neither was there a sudden proliferation of motorcars or yachts in the immediate vicinity of Bromdun Hall.
    So: on what did Lionel Maulding spend his money as a matter of habit?
    Lionel Maulding spent his money on books.
    What kind of book, or books, would cost a man ten thousand pounds?
    A rare book. A very rare book.
    I ate my breakfast, confirmed the times of trains with Mrs. Gissing, and prepared to return to London.

V
    I HAD rarely, if ever, darkened the door of Stanford’s, mainly because there was nothing in there that I felt qualified to read. I also feared this would be recognized the moment I crossed its threshold, and some officious clerk would appear from behind a counter piled high with works on physics and the nature of the atom, politely steer me back out of the door, and point me in the direction of a newsstand liberally stocked with illustrated weeklies. Instead, a very polite young man with the build of a good front-row rugby player showed me to a seat in a cluttered office and listened as I explained my purpose. I had brought with me some of the receipts for Maulding’s recent purchases, but the handwriting on them was abysmal, and those words that I could read meant nothing to me.
    The young man, who introduced himself as Richards, could have made a decent career out of the interpretation of ancient Sanskrit if the rugby or science didn’t work out, for the errant handwriting gave him not a moment’s trouble.
    â€œThat’s Old Mr. Blair’s hand,” he explained. “I’ve got to know it well over the years.”
    â€œIs Mr. Blair available?” I asked.
    His face assumed an awkward expression.
    â€œI’m afraid Old Mr. Blair passed away some weeks ago.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that.”
    â€œHe was ninety-two.”
    â€œI’m still sorry to hear it.”
    â€œThe original Mr. Stanford gave Mr. Blair his job,” Richards explained. “He was the