“Don’t let the book bugs bite,” Reuben added.

As the door closed, Stone said, “Okay, quick, let’s search the place.”

“Why don’t we wait for Pearl to leave?” Milton asked. “Then we can take our time and Caleb can help us look.”

“I’m not worried about Pearl. I don’t want Caleb to know, since he would undoubtedly object.”

They split up, and for the next thirty minutes they covered as much as they could.

Stone said in a disappointed tone, “Nothing. Not a diary, no letters.”

“I did find this on a shelf in his bedroom closet,” Reuben said, producing a photograph of a man and a woman in a small frame. “And that’s DeHaven next to her. I recognize him from his picture in the paper.”

Stone gazed at the photo and then turned it over. “No name or date. But judging from DeHaven’s appearance, it was taken many years ago.”

Milton said, “Caleb told us that the lawyer mentioned DeHaven was married once. I wonder if that was the bride?”

“Lucky guy if it is,” Reuben commented. “And they look happy, which means it was early on in the marriage. That all changes with time, trust me.”

Stone slipped the photo into his pocket. “We’ll just hold on to it for now.” He stopped and looked upward. “This home has a steeply pitched roof.”

“So?” Reuben said.

“So homes with a pitched roof of this vintage usually have an attic.”

Milton said, “I didn’t see anything like that upstairs.”

“You wouldn’t if the access were hidden,” Stone replied.

Reuben checked his watch. “What’s taking the book geeks so long? You think they’re fighting?”

“I don’t really see those two chucking first editions at each other,” Milton said.

“Whatever it is they’re doing, let’s just hope they keep it up for a little while longer,” Stone said. “Milton, you stay down here and keep watch. If you hear the elevator, call up to us.”

It took a few minutes, but Stone found the attic access behind a rack of clothes in DeHaven’s closet. It was locked, but Stone had brought a pick and tension tool with him, and the lock quickly succumbed to his prodding.

“They must have added this closet later,” Reuben said.

Stone nodded. “Walk–in closets weren’t very popular in the nineteenth century.”

They headed up the stairs. Along the way, Stone found and hit a light switch; this illuminated their path only weakly. They arrived at the top of the stairs and looked around the large space. It appeared unchanged since the day the home had been built. There were a few boxes and old suitcases, but a quick examination revealed them to be either empty or full of old junk.

Reuben spotted it first, positioned in front of a half–moon window of leaded glass. “Why a telescope here?” he asked.

“Well, you wouldn’t have one in the basement, would you?”

Reuben looked through it. “Holy shit!”

“What?” Stone exclaimed.

“It’s pointed at the house next door.”

“Whose house is it?”

“How do I —” Reuben stopped and adjusted the eyepiece. “Damn!”

“What is it? Let me see.”

“Now, wait a minute, Oliver,” Reuben said. “Let me just execute a nice long recon.”

Stone waited a few moments and then pushed his friend out of the way. Wiping the eyepiece clear, he gazed through a window of the house next to DeHaven’s. The drapes were drawn, but this window also had a half–sphere of glass above, which the drapes didn’t cover. It was only from this high vantage point that one could see into the room. And now Stone saw what had fully captured Reuben’s attention. The room was a bedroom. And Cornelius Behan was sitting naked on a large four–poster while a tall and lovely brunet did a slow striptease for him. The dress had already hit the polished floor, as had a black slip. She was now undoing her bra. When this fell, she was left with nothing on save four–inch heels and a G–string.

“Come on, Oliver, it’s my turn,” Reuben called out, his big hand on Stone’s shoulder. Stone didn’t budge. “Hey, that’s not fair, I saw the damn telescope first,” Reuben protested.

As Stone continued to watch, the panties slid down the young woman’s long legs. She stepped out of them and tossed them to Behan, who promptly put them over a certain part of his anatomy. She laughed, grasped one of the bedposts and proceeded to engage in a professional–looking pole dance. When she took off her shoes and slinked barefoot and naked toward the eagerly awaiting Behan, Stone gave up the telescope to his friend. “I’ve seen a picture of Mrs. Behan in the newspaper. That is not the woman.”

Reuben adjusted the eyepiece. “Damn it, you got it all out of focus,” he groused.

“Well, you fogged up the glass.”

Reuben settled down to watch. “A little, homely man and that beautiful woman: How does that crap happen?”

“Oh, I could give you about a billion reasons.” Stone added thoughtfully, “So DeHaven was a Peeping Tom.”

“Hell, can you blame him?” Reuben exclaimed. “Ow, that looked like it hurt. Oh, it’s okay. It looked worse than it was … Wow, the gal’s limber too. Talk about heels over head.”

Stone perked up. “What was that?”

Reuben was too busy giving the play–by–play to answer. “Okay, they’re on the floor. Oh, get this, now she’s lifted him up in the air.”

“Reuben, that’s Milton calling us. Caleb and Pearl must be coming.”

Reuben didn’t budge. “What the hell? I’ve never seen that move outside a monkey house. That chandelier must be really anchored to the damn ceiling.”

“Reuben! Come on!”

“How is she doing that with no freaking hands?”

Stone grabbed his friend and pulled him toward the door. “Now!”

Stone managed to push him down the stairs with Reuben complaining the whole time. They arrived on the main level just as Caleb and Pearl emerged from the elevator.

As Milton shot Stone and Reuben murderous glances, no doubt for cutting it so close, the rare book dealer looked stunned while Caleb appeared triumphant.

“I know it must’ve been a shock,” he said, patting Pearl on the shoulder. “But I did tell you it was an original.”

“So it is a 1640 edition?” Stone asked.

Pearl nodded dumbly. “And I held it, in these two hands, I held it.” He sat down in a chair. “I almost fainted down there. Shaw here had to fetch me some water.”

“We all make mistakes,” Caleb said in a sympathetic tone that was betrayed by his broad grin.

“This morning I called every institution that owns a Psalm Book,” Pearl said. “Yale, the Library of Congress, Old South Church in Boston, everyone. They confirmed that all was fine.” He wiped his face with a handkerchief.

Caleb took up the story. “We went over all the accepted points of authenticity regarding the book. That’s what took us so long.”

“I came convinced it was a forgery,” Pearl admitted. “But even though we examined the entire book, I knew from the opening pages that it was real. I could tell largely from the uneven presswork. The printer thinned his ink sometimes, or else there were splotches of it across the printing elements. In first editions you will always see signs of dried ink caked in between the letters, which makes it very difficult to read. It was not the norm back then to wash one’s typeset letters. The other points one would expect to see, indeed have to see in a first edition, are all there. All there,” he repeated.

“Of course, the authenticity will have to be confirmed by a team of experts undertaking stylistic, historical and scientific analysis,” Caleb noted.

“Precisely,” Pearl agreed. “Still, I believe in my heart what their answer will be.”

Stone said, “That there’s a twelfth existing copy of the Psalm Book?”

“Indeed,” Pearl confirmed quietly. “And Jonathan DeHaven had it.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe he never told me. To have one of the world’s rarest books, one that some of the greatest collectors of all time never possessed. And to keep it a secret. Why?” He looked at Caleb helplessly. “Why, Shaw?”