"Block, Lawrence - collection - The Collected Mystery Stories - 03 - Bernie Rhodenbarr - The Burglar Who Smelled Smoke - with Lynne Wood (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Block Lawrence)

"It is."

He opened it, and his large hands could not have been gentler had he been repotting orchids. He found the title page and read, '"For Franklin Roosevelt, with the earnest hope of a brighter tomorrow. Best regards from Rex Todhunter Stout.'" He ran his forefinger over the inscription. "It's Stout's writing," he announced. "He didn't inscribe many books, but I have enough signed copies to know his hand. And this is the ultimate association copy, isn't it?"

"You could say that."

"I just did. Stout was a liberal Democrat, ultimately a World Federalist. FDR, like the present incumbent, was a great fan of detective stories. It always seems to be the Democratic presidents who relish a good mystery. Eisenhower preferred Westerns, Nixon liked history and biography, and I don't know that Reagan read at all."

He sighed and closed the book. "Mr. Gulbenkian must regret the loss of this copy," he said.

"I suppose he must."

"A year ago," he said, "when I learned he'd been burglarized and some of his best volumes stolen, I wondered what sort of burglar could possibly know what books to take. And of course I thought of you."

I didn't say anything.

"Tell me your price again, Bernie. Refresh my memory."

I named a figure.

"It's high," he said.

"The book's unique," I pointed out.

"I know that. I know, too, that I can never show it off. I cannot tell anyone I have it. You and I alone will know that it is in my possession."

"It'll be our little secret, Karl."

"Our little secret. I can't even insure it. At least Gulbenkian was insured, eh? But he can never replace the book. Why didn't you sell it back to him?"

"I might," I said, "if you decide you don't want it."

"But of course I want it!" He might have said more but a glance at his watch reminded him of the time. "Two o'clock," he said, motioning me toward the door. "Eva will have my afternoon coffee ready. And you will excuse me, I am sure, while I spend the afternoon with my books, including this latest specimen."

"Be careful with it," I said.

"Bernie! I'm not going to read it. I have plenty of reading copies, should I care to renew my acquaintance with Fer-de-Lance. I want to hold it, to be with it. And then at six o'clock we will conclude our business, and I will give you a dinner every bit as good as the lunch you just had. And then you can return to the city."

He ushered me out, and moments later he disappeared into the library again, carrying a tray with coffee in one of those silver pots they used to give you on trains. There was a cup on the tray as well, and a sugar bowl and creamer, along with a plate of shortbread cookies. I stood in the hall and watched the library door swing shut, heard the lock turn and the bolt slide home. Then I turned, and there was Karl's wife, Eva.

"I guess he's really going to spend the next four hours in there," I said.

"He always does."

"I'd go for a drive," I said, "but I don't have a car. I suppose I could go for a walk. It's a beautiful day, bright and sunny. Of course your husband doesn't allow sunlight into the library, but I suppose he lets it go where it wants in the rest of the neighborhood."

That drew a smile from her.

"If I'd thought ahead," I said, "I'd have brought something to read. Not that there aren't a few thousand books in the house, but they're all locked away with Karl."