Hurriedly he thrust the jade book, as he called it, back into his pocket, and opening one of the big volumes he had taken from the bookcase, seemed to be deeply absorbed in reading. In fact, he was so taken up with it that he did not heed a racket at the door, when somebody outside pushed it against the overturned chair.
It was not until Nick Carter had forced his way in, and Chick was picking up the chair, that he turned, with a far-away expression, and smiled.
“Ah, Mr. Carter! Back again? I took the liberty of looking at this book when I found myself alone. It is by my dear friend Anderton, written several years ago. I have heard of it, but never happened to get hold of it before. Do you know the work? It is called ‘The Orient and Orientalism.’ A splendid treatment of a great subject. Masterly, in fact. I have often thought——”
“Why did you barricade the door?” demanded Nick, his eyes blazing. “I don’t understand this, Professor Tolo.”
There was no chance to ignore the anger in the detective’s tones, and the professor came to himself with a jerk. He shut the book and put it on its shelf, while he looked from Nick Carter to Chick, and back again, in a most edifying bewilderment.
“I don’t understand,” he faltered.
“You placed a chair against that door, didn’t you?” insisted the detective.
“Did I?” asked the professor vacantly. “I—I don’t know. I was thinking about something else. Why, I—— Oh, yes, so I did. I remember. As I passed a chair, I accidentally knocked it over. I intended to pick it up, of course. But I saw the title of this volume in the bookcase——”
“Away across the room?” growled Chick.
The professor disregarded the query, and continued: “When I saw that this book was here, I forgot everything else. All I saw was this work, that I have longed for years, to hold in my hand, and I forgot all about the chair. How I wish my dear Anderton were alive! He would lend it to me, I know. As it is, I must try and get a copy somewhere else.”