Annette and June gasped. The piece that had come off was like a strip of veneer furnished with metal clips for fastening it in place. Behind it was more wood, but this time with a keyhole in it. Watched breathlessly by Annette and June, I brought out Greville’s bunch of keys and tried those that looked the right size: and one of them turned obligingly with hardly a click. I pulled the key, still in the hole, toward me, and like silk a wide shallow drawer slid out.
We all looked at the contents. Passport. Little flat black gadgets, four or five of them.
No diamonds.
June was delighted. “That’s the Wizard,” she said.
14
“Which is the Wizard?” I asked.
“That one.”
She pointed at a black rectangle a good deal smaller than a paperback, and when I picked it up and turned it over, sure enough, it had “Wizard” written on it in gold. I handed it to June who opened it like a book, laying it flat on the desk. The right-hand panel was covered with buttons and looked like an ultraversatile calculator. The left-hand side had a small screen at the top and a touch panel at the bottom with headings like “expense record,” “time accounting,” “reports” and “reference.”
“It does everything,” June said. “It’s a diary, a phone directory, a memo pad, an appointments calendar, an accounts keeper...”
“And does it have an alarm set to four-twenty?”
She switched the thing on, pressed three keys and showed me the screen. “Daily alarm,” it announced. “4:20 P.M., set.”
“Fair enough.”
For Annette the excitement seemed to be over. There were things she needed to see to, she said, and went away. June suggested she should tidy away all the gadgets and close all the drawers, and while she did that I investigated further the contents of the one drawer we left open.
I frowned a bit over the passport. I’d assumed that in going to Harwich, Greville had meant to catch the ferry. The Koningin Beatrix sailed every night...
If one looked at it the other way round, the Koningin Beatrix must sail from Holland to Harwich every day. If he hadn’t taken the passport with him, perhaps he’d been going to meet the Koningin Beatrix, not leave on her.
Meet who?
I looked at his photograph, which like all passport photographs wasn’t very good but good enough to bring him vividly into the office; his office, where I sat in his chair.
June looked over my shoulder and said, “Oh,” in a small voice. “I do miss him, you know.”
“Yes.”
I put the passport with regret back into the drawer and took out a flat square object hardly larger than the Wizard that had a narrow curl of paper coming out of it.
“That’s the printer,” June said.
“A printer? So small?”
“It’ll print everything stored in the Wizard.”
She plugged the printer’s short cord into a slot in the side of the Wizard and dexterously pressed a few keys. With a whir the tiny machine went into action and began printing out a strip of half the telephone directory, or so it seemed.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” June said, pressing another button to stop it. “When he was away on trips, Mr. Franklin would enter all his expenses on here and we would print them out when he got home, or sometimes transfer them from the Wizard to our main computer through an interface... oh, dear.” She smothered the uprush of emotion and with an attempt at controlling her voice said, “He would note down in there a lot of things he wanted to remember when he got home. Things like who had offered him unusual stones. Then he’d tell Prospero Jenks, and quite often I’d be writing to the addresses to have the stones sent.”
I looked at the small electronic marvel. So much information quiescent in its circuits.
“Is there an instruction manual?” I asked.
“Of course. All the instruction manuals for everything are in this drawer.” She opened one on the outer right-hand stack. “So are the warranty cards, and everything.” She sorted through a rank of booklets. “Here you are. One for the Wizard, one for the printer, one for the expenses organizer.”
“I’ll borrow them,” I said.
“They’re yours now,” she replied blankly. “Aren’t they?”
“I can’t get used to it any more than you can.”
I laid the manuals on top of the desk next to the Wizard and the printer and took a third black object out of the secret drawer.
This one needed no explanation. This was the microcassette recorder that went with the tiny tapes I’d found in the hollowed-out books.
“That’s voice activated,” June said, looking at it. “It will sit quietly around doing nothing for hours, then when anyone speaks it will record what’s said. Mr. Franklin used it sometimes for dictating letters or notes because it let him say a bit, think a bit, and say a bit more, without using up masses of tape. I used to listen to the tapes and type straight onto the word processor.”
Worth her weight in pearls, Greville had judged. I wouldn’t quarrel with that.
I put the microcassette player beside the other things and brought out the last two gadgets. One was a tiny Minolta camera, which June said Greville used quite often for pictures of unusual stones for Prospero Jenks, and the last was a gray thing one could hold in one’s hand that had an on/off switch but no obvious purpose.
“That’s to frighten dogs away,” June said with a smile. “Mr. Franklin didn’t like dogs, but I think he was ashamed of not liking them, because at first he didn’t want to tell me what that was, when I asked him.”
I hadn’t known Greville didn’t like dogs. I fiercely wanted him back, if only to tease him about it. The real trouble with death was what it left unsaid: and knowing that that thought was a more or less universal regret made it no less sharp.
I put the dog frightener back beside the passport and also the baby camera, which had no film in it. Then I closed and locked the shallow drawer and fitted the piece of veneer back in place, pushing it home with a click. The vast top again looked wholly solid, and I wondered if Greville had bought that desk simply because of the drawer’s existence, or whether he’d had the whole piece specially made.
“You’d never know that drawer was there,” June said. “I wonder how many fortunes have been lost by people getting rid of hiding places they didn’t suspect?”
“I read a story about that once. Something about money stuffed in an old armchair that was left to someone.” I couldn’t remember the details: but Greville had left me more than an old armchair, and more than one place to look, and I too could get rid of the treasure from not suspecting the right hiding place, if there were one at all to find.
Meanwhile there was the problem of staying healthy while I searched. There was the worse problem of sorting out ways of taking the war to the enemy, if I could identify the enemy in the first place.
I asked June if she could find something I could carry the Wizard and the other things in and she was back in a flash with a soft plastic bag with handles. It reminded me fleetingly of the bag I’d had snatched at Ipswich but this time, I thought, when I carried the booty to the car, I would take with me an invincible bodyguard, a long-legged, flat-chested twenty-one-year-old blonde half in love with my brother.
The telephone rang. I picked up the receiver and said, “Saxony Franklin” out of newly acquired habit.
“Derek? Is that you?”
“Yes, Milo, it is.”
“I’m not satisfied with this horse.” He sounded aggressive, which wasn’t unusual, and also apologetic, which was.
“Which horse?” I asked.