“Shakespeare’s Folios. The First Folio would be the obvious one, of course. It contains nine hundred pages with thirty-six of the plays. None of the Bard’s original manuscripts have survived, so the Folios are incredibly desirable. A First Folio sold a few years ago in England for three and a half million pounds.”
Milton let out a low whistle and shook his head. “About six thousand dollars a page.”
Caleb continued, “Then there are the obvious acquisitions: William Blake, Newton’s Principia Mathematica, something from Caxton, the earliest English printer. J. P. Morgan had over sixty Caxtons in his collection, if I remember correctly. A 1457 Mainz Psalter, The Book of St. Albans, and, of course, a Gutenberg Bible. There are only three known mint-condition Gutenbergs printed on vellum in the world. The Library of Congress has one. They’re priceless.”
Caleb ran his gaze down one shelf. “Jonathan has the 1472 edition of Dante’s Divine Comedy, which would be welcome in any first-rate collection. He also has Poe’s Tamerlane, which is exceedingly rare and difficult to obtain. One sold some time ago for nearly two hundred thousand dollars. Poe’s reputation has made a nice rebound lately, so today it would fetch a much higher price. The collection includes a worthy selection of incunabula, mostly German, but some Italian, and a solid set of first editions of more contemporary novels, many of them autographed. He was very strong in Americana and has a large sampling of personal writings from Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Franklin, Madison, Hamilton, Lincoln and others. As I said, it’s a very nice collection, but not a great one.”
“What’s that?” Reuben asked, pointing to a dimly lit corner in the back of the vault.
They all crowded around the object. It was a small portrait of a man in medieval dress.
“I don’t remember seeing that before,” Caleb said.
“And why have a painting hanging in a vault?” Milton added.
“And only one painting,” Stone commented. “Not much of a collection.” He was examining the portrait from various angles before placing his fingers on one edge of the painting’s frame and pulling. It swung open on a set of hinges, revealing the door of a small combination lock safe built into the wall.
“A safe within a safe,” Stone said. “Try the combination the lawyer gave you for the main vault, Caleb.”
Caleb did so but it didn’t work. He tried various other numbers without success.
Stone remarked, “People typically use a combination they won’t forget so they won’t have to write it down. It could be numbers, letters or both.”
“Why give Caleb the key and pass code to the main vault but not give him the one to the inner safe?” Milton asked.
“Maybe he figured Caleb would know it somehow,” Reuben commented.
Stone nodded. “I agree with Reuben. Think, Caleb. It might have something to do with the Rare Books reading room.”
“Why?” Milton asked.
“Because this was DeHaven’s rare books reading room of sorts.”
Caleb looked thoughtful. “Well, Jonathan did open the room every day, about an hour before anyone else arrived. That was done with special alarmed keys, and he also had to input a security code to open the doors. But I don’t have that code.”
“Something simpler than that perhaps. So simple it’s staring you in the face.”
Caleb suddenly snapped his fingers. “Of course. Staring me in the face every day of my life.” His fingers punched in a code on the safe’s digital pad, and the door clicked open.
“What number did you use?” Stone asked.
“LJ239. It’s the room number of the Rare Books reading room. I look at it every day when I go to work.”
Inside the safe was one article. Caleb carefully drew out the box and slowly opened it.
Reuben said, “That thing’s in pretty ragged shape.”
It was a book, the cover was black and torn and the binding was starting to come apart. Caleb carefully opened it and turned to the first page. Then he turned another and then another.
He finally gave a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, my God!”
Stone said, “Caleb, what is it?”
Caleb’s hands were shaking. He spoke slowly, his voice trembling. “I think, I mean I believe this is a first-edition Bay Psalm Book.”
“Is it rare?” Stone asked.
Caleb looked at him wide-eyed. “It’s the oldest surviving object printed in what is now the United States, Oliver. There are only eleven Psalm Books in existence in the entire world, and only five of them are complete. They never come onto the market. The Library of Congress has one, but it was given to us decades ago. I don’t believe we could’ve afforded it otherwise.”
“So how did Jonathan DeHaven get one?” Stone remarked.
With great reverence Caleb carefully eased the book back into the box and closed it. He placed the box in the safe and shut the door. “I don’t know. The last Psalm Book came on the market over sixty years ago when it was purchased for what was then a record amount equaling millions of dollars in today’s money. It’s now at Yale.” He shook his head. “For book collectors this is like finding a missing Rembrandt or Goya.”
“Well, if there are only eleven in the world, it would be pretty simple to account for them,” Milton suggested. “I could Google it.”
Caleb looked at him with disdain. While Milton embraced every new advance of the computer, Caleb was a decided technophobe.
“We never did catch your name,” Reuben said, eyeing the man suspiciously.
Before he could answer, Stone said, “I believe we’re in the company of Cornelius Behan, CEO of Paradigm Technologies, the country’s third largest defense contractor.”
Behan smiled. “Soon to be number one if I get my way, and I usually do.”
“Well, Mr. Behan,” Caleb began.
“Call me CB, everybody does.” He took a step forward and glanced around the room. “So this is DeHaven’s book collection.”