it.’ It’s not signed, Bern.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Don’t tell me, Bern. Is it…”
“It’s Hammett’s handwriting,” I said. “More of a scrawl than usual, but that’s how he wrote when he was drunk, and he must have been pretty far gone to write something like that. He certainly didn’t like the book enough to take it home with him, and I guess somebody stuck it on a shelf.”
“Raymond Chandler’s first book,” she said, “in nice condition, with an intact dust jacket. Inscribed by the author to Dashiell Hammett, and counter-inscribed by Hammett. And what an inscription!”
“It’s something, all right.”
“I guess it must be the ultimate association copy in American literature.”
“Well, if you found a copy of Tamerlane inscribed by Poe to the young Abraham Lincoln, it’d probably put this volume in the shade. Barring that, I guess it’s way up there.”
“What’s it worth, Bern?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “A fortune, but how big a fortune? I couldn’t even guess. You’d need to hold an auction to answer the question. It would depend on who showed up and just how badly they wanted it.”
“Wow.”
“But it doesn’t matter,” I said. “I can’t sell it.”
She stared at me.
“Lots of things didn’t come to light up at Cuttleford House,” I said. “We never did find out what became of the real Mr. Pettisham, or what Rathburn and Wolpert were hoping to get from him. And I kept Lettice’s secret, and there were probably other people keeping other secrets. But one thing that did come out was my two occupations. Millicent Savage had already told everybody that I was a burglar—”
“Because you’d made the mistake of telling her.”
“Well, yes. But now Ray told them, too, and they had to believe it. Besides, that explained how I’d been able to get into various rooms and unearth various facts. But it also came out that I was a bookseller.”
“So?”
“So after the dust had settled and before you and I could head for home, Nigel Eglantine took me aside. Ever since they bought the place he’d known they ought to do something about the books. He’d hesitated approaching a dealer because he didn’t know who would prove trustworthy. But he could tell I was an honest chap—”
“Hadn’t he just learned you were a burglar?”
“I guess he figured I must be an honest burglar. Anyway, he wanted to know what I’d charge to go through the entire library, pull the books that were worth selling and the junk that ought to be disposed of, and arrange the remainder into some semblance of order. I told him I’d spotted a fair number of collectible books on his shelves, and that I’d broker them for a split of the net receipts. And while I was at it I’d clear out the obsolete travel guides and world almanacs, the Reader’s Digest condensed books, the theme cookbooks from the Junior League of Chillicothe, Ohio. All the junk you can’t unload at a yard sale. When I was done he’d have a nice piece of change, an orderly library, and a lot less clutter.”
“And you’d have a few days in the country and a fair return on your time.”
“It’ll take more than a few days,” I said. “I’ll have to close the store for at least a week, and probably two. But I’ll do it in August, when it’ll be so hot here in town I’ll be able to talk myself into going to the country. And yes, I’ll be well paid for my time. He’s got a lot of books there, and some of them’ll bring decent money.”
She frowned, thinking it through. “But what about The Big Sleep? He never knew it was there, and it’s not there anymore. Can’t you just consign it at Christie’s or Sotheby’s without saying where it came from?”
I shook my head. “With something like this,” I said, “provenance is everything. What really authenticates the handwriting is the passage from Lester Harding Ross’s memoir that indicates the meeting of the two men took place, and that there was a book signed and presented. If I want to get top dollar for the book, I have to be able to say where it came from. Even if I don’t say a word, anyone who walks the cat back is going to wind up at Cuttleford House, and once the book is connected to Cuttleford House I’m on the spot.”
Raffles put his forepaws out in front of him and stretched, humping his back to show what he thought of the prospect of