Drury Lane’s Last Case by Ellery Queen

dripped gold from their quills. There was probably a good deal of competition among the publishers. Mr. William Jaggard sought names, just as some of our current theatrical producers and book publishers seek them to-day. And so he became something very like a pirate. He printed The Passionate Pilgrim . In it he included two previously unpublished sonnets by Shakespeare, and three poems drawn from the already published play, Love’s Labour’s Lost . The rest was padding. He assigned them, with colossal nerve, all of them, to Shakespeare. I’ve no doubt they sold well; and as for Shakespeare, he seems to have been a curiously indifferent dramatist as far as publication was concerned.” Lane sighed. “I tell you this to give you something of an appreciation of the background. I’m sure they sold well because after printing a first edition in 1599, he reprinted in 1606, and still a third time in 1612. Now what makes the present situation so amazing is this: There are three copies of the 1599 Jaggard extant. There are two copies of the 1612 Jaggard extant. But until a few moments ago the entire bibliophilic world thought there was no copy of the 1606 Jaggard extant!”
    â€œThen this book is priceless?” whispered Patience.
    â€œPriceless?” echoed Dr. Choate absently.
    â€œI said,” replied the old man in dulcet tones, “that this was an odd case, my dear. Inspector, I scarcely blame you for being puzzled; although you didn’t grasp the full intricacies of the puzzle quite clearly. Patience, my child, the situation becomes slightly insane. Apparently your man of the blue hat went to vast trouble, at great personal risk, to wheedle his way into a closed group, illicitly visit the Britannic Museum, drift away from the group while Dr. Choate expounded on the glories of his museum, make his way to this Saxon Room, smash in the glass of the Jaggard cabinet.… Throughout, this odd thief ran the enormous risk of arrest for grand larceny and vandalism—all for what?” Lane’s voice sharpened. “To steal one rare and valuable book, and then to leave in its place a book even rarer and more valuable than the one he stole!”

8
    The Beneficent Thief
    â€œWhat’s the row?” demanded a cheerful voice, and young Gordon Rowe sauntered into the Saxon Room from the corridor. He grinned at Patience and went to her side at once, like a scrap of iron filing drawn to a magnet.
    â€œAh, Rowe,” said the curator hurriedly. “The very man. The most extraordinary thing’s happened!”
    â€œWe seem to be attracting marvels like Mr. Barnum’s freak show,” said young Rowe with a wink at Patience. “Mr. Lane! Glad to see you, sir. Lord, what a solemn congregation! And I see you’ve been initiating Dr. Sedlar into our little domestic difficulties, Dr. Choate. ’Lo, Inspector. What’s the trouble, Doctor?”
    Dr. Choate mutely waved the blue volume in his hand.
    Rowe dropped his smile instantly. “Not——?” He looked around and saw grave faces. Then he took the book from the curator and slowly opened it. An expression of the most intense amazement came over his face. He looked around again in blank confusion. “It isn’t——? Why, this is a 1606 Jaggard!” he shouted. “I thought there weren’t any——”
    â€œApparently there is,” said the old gentleman dryly. “Beautiful copy, isn’t it, Gordon? There will be shouting in the streets when the news gets out.”
    â€œI know,” muttered Rowe, “but——Where in God’s good name did this come from? Who found it? You didn’t bring it over from London, did you, Dr. Sedlar?”
    â€œScarcely!” drawled the Englishman.
    â€œYou won’t believe it,” said Dr. Choate with a helpless shrug. “But we did have a theft here Monday. Some one left this in the Jaggard case,