What if the scene that I am remembering is true?
He sat for a moment longer, the question bedeviling him, and then rose abruptly.
Several hours later, after studying the recent newspapers in the reading room and doing some research in the West Wing’s archives, he had uncovered enough unsettling information to send him rushing back to his office to dash off a letter. A glance at his pocket watch showed that there was still time to hand it off to the late-night Royal Mail coach heading to London.
After returning to the library, he resumed his work. Shadows flitted over the books and papers on his desk. A breeze tickled against the ancient leaded window. Looking up, he released a sigh. “Perhaps I have let my imagination run wild.” At the moment, evil seemed very far away.
Still, as Greeley put down his pen and shuffled through the hastily scribbled notes he had made concerning his suspicions, he was glad he had sent the letter.Truth—I must know the truth. And if anyone was capable of discerning truth from lies, it was the man to whom he had sent the letter.
He paused and once again picked up the print by A. J. Quill, the candlelight flickering over the colors as he re-read the captions.Damnation. He folded it up and shoved it back into the jumbled pile of papers on his desk, willing himself to put the matter aside for now.
But on suddenly recalling another book in the West Wing that might help confirm his hunches, he got to his feet. The challenge of fitting the pieces of a puzzle together—especially this one—had his blood thrumming. Taking up the glass-globed candle on his desk, he went to fetch it.
As he retraced his steps, a flutter of light caught his eye. It was coming from his office.
Moving quietly, Greeley crossed the corridor and slipped into the room. A man was riffling through the crate of rare manuscripts. A grunt of satisfaction sounded as he grabbed one of them—
“Stop!” commanded Greeley.
The intruder whirled around.
No—this cannot be. Greeley blinked. And then blinked again. “Y-You!”
“Yes, me.” A smile. “How nice to see you, Neville. It’s been what . . . six years?”
Greeley didn’t reply. He had forgotten how the man’s slate-dark eyes always seemed to hold a touch of malice.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “And why are you stealing—”
“Oh, my dear Neville, you completely misunderstand my intentions,” interjected Slate Eyes. “I learned earlier today that this manuscript had been delivered to you, and I am merely borrowing it for a bit.” He sighed. “I would have asked, of course, but I have heard that you are so easily distressed these days.”
A smile, sheened with an oily gleam in the flickering candlelight, touched his lips as he held up the manuscript. “Be assured it will be used for the Higher Good—and I know how much you value such altruistic ideals.”
Dropping his voice, Slate Eyes added, “But a caveat—for now it’s best to be hush-hush about your loan of it to me. It needs to remain a secret for reasons too complex to explain. But as I said, it’s all for the good.” A pause. “And of course, I will pay you handsomely for your discretion.”
“How dare you suggest such a thing!” retorted Greeley. “My silence—and my honor—isn’t for sale.”
“Honor? Oh, yes—one of your precious principles.” Slate Eyes gave a mocking smile. “Only look where they have gotten you.”
That sneer. It was then, in a flash of recognition, that Greeley knew for sure his suspicions were correct. And he suddenly realized how Slate Eyes was the key to how the pieces of a horribly perfidious puzzle from the past fit together.
“Go to the devil! Whatever you have planned, I am sure it is nothing good.” He grabbed the manuscript from Slate Eyes and put it back on his desk. “Evil,” he whispered. “You reek of evil.”
“Good heavens, I—” Slate Eyes assumed a look of injured innocence. “I have no idea what you mean by that.”
“No?” Greeley then said a name.
Slate-Eyes contrived to look even more baffled. “I’m afraid you’re not making sense.” A pause, and then he made a sympathetictsk-tsksound. “But then, I’ve heard that you are troubled by demons.”
“I remember now . . . I smelled a rat back then,” said Greeley slowly. “And the odor is growing even more foul as we speak.”
“What are you insinuating?” Slate Eyes shifted. “If I’m being accused of some scurrilous deed, it seems only fair that I have a chance to defend myself.”
“How dare you speak of fairness?” Greeley clenched his jaw, the other man’s look of amusement sparking an unholy rush of anger. “You wish to have it spelled out? Very well—here’s exactly what I think . . .”
It all came out in a rush. The past, and how it connected with the present.
A moment of silence hovered between them once Greeley finished his lengthy exposition. And then came a mournful sigh.
