my heart. All you have to do is come with us up to Eighty-First Street, to a used-book store called Sturm & Drang.”
“I know the place.” He eyes us suspiciously. “Why there? Why me?”
“Well, you weren’t our first choice, to be honest,” I admit. “We were going to ask Malcolm Chance, but the guy at the bookstore knows him. He was with us at the auction.”
“Auction?” He’s shaking his head with a what-have-they-gotten-themselves-into-this-time look on his face.
“Don’t worry. Margaret will explain it all later.”
“Here’s the plan,” says Margaret. “You go in the bookstore while we wait outside, out of sight. If he sees us, he’ll know something is up.”
“I’m sure you’re going to explain to me why he is so suspicious of you, right?”
Margaret ignores him. “With all your theater experience, you’re up for a little acting, aren’t you? Here’s your part: you are a rare-book collector, and you’re just browsing. After a few minutes, make your way back toward the counter. You’ll see a cabinet with glass doors—that’s where he keeps all the good stuff. Inside, there’s a copy of
The Mill on the Floss
by George Eliot.” When she sees the face he makes, she pauses, remembering that Mr. Eliot’s first name is George. “Oh, right, I guess you would know that one.”
“Yes, I would,” he says.
“That book is listed on the website for twelve hundred dollars. Just say that you saw it online and might be interested. Here’s a printout of the page from his site. Then, as you hand that book back to him, something else in the cabinet is going to catch your eye. It’s a set of books called
Nine Worthy Men
, three volumes in a slipcase, in very nice condition. Are you with me so far? Good. Because next comes the tricky part. Look carefully at the first volume in the set. There’s one of those built-in bookmarks, a piece of red ribbon. We want you to … tug on that ribbon and see what happens.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but once we tell you the rest of the story, you’ll see. When the guy from the shop hands you that book, we’re going to come in and create a little distraction so you can do what you need to do.”
“What do you think is going to happen when I pull on that ribbon? Is it going to summon Charlemagne’s ghost or something equally dramatic? What if it comes all the way out? What am I supposed to do then?”
“How did you know Charlemagne was one of them?” I ask.
Mr. Eliot taps his forehead. “There’s a whole warehouse full of useless information up here, St. Pierre.”
Margaret takes an eight-inch piece of red ribbon from her bag. “I’ve got it covered.”
Mr. Eliot looks at our waiting faces. “I still want to hear the rest of this story, but fine, okay, let’s go. I reserve the right to reconsider.”
“So you’ll really do it?” Becca asks, not hiding the surprise in her voice. “I bet them you wouldn’t.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Chen.”
“We’ll see,” she says. “The opera ain’t over till it’s over.”
But he doesn’t change his mind, even after hearing the rest of the story on the subway ride to Eighty-Sixth Street. We stop a few doors down from Sturm & Drang for a quick review of the plan. Mr. Eliot checks his coatpocket one final time for the piece of red ribbon and the folded paper with the information that Margaret printed out from Marcus Klinger’s website, and then he’s off.
Once he’s inside, we scurry down the sidewalk to the near corner of the bookstore’s front window and crouch into spying position, ready to pounce the second we see him crack open
Nine Worthy Men
.
For a used-book store in an out-of-the-way location, Sturm & Drang is strangely busy; there are three other people in the store besides Mr. Eliot, and Marcus Klinger moves from customer to customer, chatting and smiling—things he never bothered to do for us. Mr. Eliot discovers the Dickens shelf, and
“I know the place.” He eyes us suspiciously. “Why there? Why me?”
“Well, you weren’t our first choice, to be honest,” I admit. “We were going to ask Malcolm Chance, but the guy at the bookstore knows him. He was with us at the auction.”
“Auction?” He’s shaking his head with a what-have-they-gotten-themselves-into-this-time look on his face.
“Don’t worry. Margaret will explain it all later.”
“Here’s the plan,” says Margaret. “You go in the bookstore while we wait outside, out of sight. If he sees us, he’ll know something is up.”
“I’m sure you’re going to explain to me why he is so suspicious of you, right?”
Margaret ignores him. “With all your theater experience, you’re up for a little acting, aren’t you? Here’s your part: you are a rare-book collector, and you’re just browsing. After a few minutes, make your way back toward the counter. You’ll see a cabinet with glass doors—that’s where he keeps all the good stuff. Inside, there’s a copy of
The Mill on the Floss
by George Eliot.” When she sees the face he makes, she pauses, remembering that Mr. Eliot’s first name is George. “Oh, right, I guess you would know that one.”
“Yes, I would,” he says.
“That book is listed on the website for twelve hundred dollars. Just say that you saw it online and might be interested. Here’s a printout of the page from his site. Then, as you hand that book back to him, something else in the cabinet is going to catch your eye. It’s a set of books called
Nine Worthy Men
, three volumes in a slipcase, in very nice condition. Are you with me so far? Good. Because next comes the tricky part. Look carefully at the first volume in the set. There’s one of those built-in bookmarks, a piece of red ribbon. We want you to … tug on that ribbon and see what happens.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but once we tell you the rest of the story, you’ll see. When the guy from the shop hands you that book, we’re going to come in and create a little distraction so you can do what you need to do.”
“What do you think is going to happen when I pull on that ribbon? Is it going to summon Charlemagne’s ghost or something equally dramatic? What if it comes all the way out? What am I supposed to do then?”
“How did you know Charlemagne was one of them?” I ask.
Mr. Eliot taps his forehead. “There’s a whole warehouse full of useless information up here, St. Pierre.”
Margaret takes an eight-inch piece of red ribbon from her bag. “I’ve got it covered.”
Mr. Eliot looks at our waiting faces. “I still want to hear the rest of this story, but fine, okay, let’s go. I reserve the right to reconsider.”
“So you’ll really do it?” Becca asks, not hiding the surprise in her voice. “I bet them you wouldn’t.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Chen.”
“We’ll see,” she says. “The opera ain’t over till it’s over.”
But he doesn’t change his mind, even after hearing the rest of the story on the subway ride to Eighty-Sixth Street. We stop a few doors down from Sturm & Drang for a quick review of the plan. Mr. Eliot checks his coatpocket one final time for the piece of red ribbon and the folded paper with the information that Margaret printed out from Marcus Klinger’s website, and then he’s off.
Once he’s inside, we scurry down the sidewalk to the near corner of the bookstore’s front window and crouch into spying position, ready to pounce the second we see him crack open
Nine Worthy Men
.
For a used-book store in an out-of-the-way location, Sturm & Drang is strangely busy; there are three other people in the store besides Mr. Eliot, and Marcus Klinger moves from customer to customer, chatting and smiling—things he never bothered to do for us. Mr. Eliot discovers the Dickens shelf, and
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