“What was the book?” was Bartley's question.
“De Sade's ‘Justine’—the third volume.”
“And did you place it back in the case?”
She shook her head. “No, I locked the case and gave the key to Mr. Warren. But the volume was on the desk when I left.”
We had looked the desk over after the murder, but there had been no book of that description. It would have been easy to have seen it, because of the shape and because the books in that case were almost all bound in white vellum or red morocco. I told Bartley this, and he went over to the case, returning with a book—a book bound in red—which he simply handed to me. It was the first volume of the original ten-volume edition of De Sade's work. I gave it one look and said that I had not seen it on the desk.
He turned to the girl. “It was bound like this, was it not?”
“No,” was her rather surprising answer. “It was not. There were six books in the set. Mr. Warren said that the last eight volumes were bound two to a book. For some reason the second volume and the other four were bound in white. This one was red—the only one of the set with that color for a cover.”
I saw a curious smile play over Bartley's face. Slowly, he turned the pages of the book, and then to my surprise he placed it in his pocket. Then, turning to the girl, he asked:
“Now, did any one call the library on the telephone during the afternoon?”
“Two people, both men. I do not know who they were. Mr. Warren answered the phone. I don't even know what they wanted.”