“Can you tell me the title?” Wrexford asked.
Quincy made a face. “I’m afraid not, sir. As you can see, most of these ancient manuscripts are bound in plain leather, with no titles stamped on them.”
The earl muttered an oath. Knowing the specifics might be meaningless, but it was at least some sort of clue.
“However,” added Quincy, “if I take the crate back to the Balliol College Library, and cross-check the contents with one of the librarians, I should be able to get you an answer.”
“Off you go then.” Wrexford heard the bump and shuffle of the mortuary men entering the building, punctuated by the Warden’s pleas not to damage the library’s ancient woodwork. He wished to have a look at the body without anyone else present.
As Quincy hurried away, the earl closed the door and returned to the shrouded corpse. Taking hold of the linen, he eased it down and let it fall over the dead man’s lap. After gently closing Greeley’s unseeing eyes, he crouched down for a closer look at the man’s bloody chest.
“Sorry, my friend,” he murmured, then took up the pen knife and enlarged the tear in the librarian’s shirt so that he could subject the wound to a thorough scrutiny.
It was harder than most people thought to stab someone in the heart. But after wiping away the blood with the tail end of the shroud, Wrexford was able to probe around enough to discern that the mortal knife thrust had cut upward between two ribs, perfectly angled to strike the heart. Which meant, he reflected, that the killer had been extraordinarily lucky . . .
Or had experience in wielding a lethal blade.
He frowned in thought. The fact that Greeley was seated and there was no sign of a struggle seemed to indicate that the librarian had known his attacker. So, the first line of inquiry must be whether the poor fellow had any enemies in town.
Sitting back on his haunches, Wrexford absently cleaned his fingers. “However, if it’s a personal grudge, why is the manuscript missing?” he whispered. Before he could formulate an answer, the door latch rattled and clicked open.
The earl rose and pulled the shroud back in place just as the lead mortuary man stuck his head into the room. He was a big, brawny fellow and clearly the one in charge.
“It’s a bloody wonder that there’s a single book left in the rest of England,” muttered the mortuary man on regarding the overstuffed shelves. “And why would anyone voluntarily read them?” Shrugging off the thought, the fellow returned to a more familiar subject and assessed the shrouded corpse with a professional eye.
“Hmmph. At least it looks like the first stiffness of death has passed and we’ll be able te get the corpse on our plank wivout doing too much damage.”
The Warden, who along with the rector had followed the mortuary men to the office, turned pale as a ghost.
Anxious to get rid of the college officials so that he could search the office without their hovering, Wrexford forced a solicitous smile. “Reverend Vaughan, you and the rector have suffered quite a shock. There’s really nothing you can do here, so why don’t you retire to your lodge for a restorative sherry while I take care of managing what needs to be done.”
“I . . .” The Warden pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his brow. “I would be most grateful, milord.” Inclining a small bow, he and his companion retreated and disappeared around the corner.
The earl lost no time in moving to help the mortuary man and his assistant maneuver their plank into the cramped office and clear a space for it on the floor.
“Carefully, if you please,” he said as they moved to the chair and took hold of the librarian’s corpse.That all humanity was eventually reduced to a lifeless jumble of flesh and bones was a fact Wrexford accepted with scientific detachment. However, watching his foully murdered friend being lifted like a sack of stones stirred a sudden wave of sadness.
His hands clenched as the body thumped down against the well-worn wooden plank, and in that instant Wrexford made a silent pledge to Greeley to find the killer and bring him to justice.
Working with practiced skill, the two mortuary men roped the corpse in place for the descent down the narrow stairs.
“I realize it’s a change in the usual routine,” said the earl as the men finished the last knots. “However, I wish for the body to be taken to London rather than the local mortuary.” He took a leather purse from his pocket and gave it a shake, setting off the sonorous chink of gold against gold. “I will make it very worth your while . . .”
An agreement was quickly negotiated.
Wrexford picked up a pen from the dead man’s desk and wrote out the directions to the lodgings of his good friend Basil Henning, a former military surgeon who was part of his and Charlotte’s inner circle. Baz would no doubt grouse about having another uninvited body show up on his mortuary slab. But his expertise in the infinite varieties of violent death had proved instrumental in solving a number of other puzzling murders.
“A pleasure doing business with you,” said the mortuary man as Wrexford handed him the note.
He and his assistant then hefted their load and moved with surprising grace through the doorway. The footsteps faded as soon as they turned the corner into the South Wing. Wrexford decided to leave the door slightly ajar in case Quincy returned and turned back to the desk.
Where to start?
A jumble of ledgers peeked out from beneath the helter-pelter piles of books and periodicals. Frowning in frustration, Wrexford grabbed the papers lying on the edge of the blotter and began to skim through them. Given their position on the desk, they appeared to be whatever Greeley had been writing when interrupted by his killer. And yet they made no sense—cryptic half sentences, strings of seemingly random numbers, odd little doodles in the margins....
“Bloody hell.” Wrexford looked around and spotted a document case wedged between two stacks of books. He gathered up the rest of the sheets and stuffed them inside it. Charlotte always noticed things that escaped his own eyes. Perhaps she could help decipher what Greeley had been thinking.
Turning his attention to the desk drawers, he opened the top one and commenced a methodical search—
