Please forgive me if I borrow some of the ideas from your saga. I can promise absolutely that I will continue to respect your family’s wish that the saga itself should remain secret, as it has done for so many hundreds of years. If you do object, please let me know.
I will return the copy of the saga to you next week.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
J.R.R. Tolkien
Magnus’s heart was pounding. The letter would double the value of the saga, treble it. It was an astounding discovery, the key to what had become one of the most pervasive legends of the twentieth century.
A wealthy Lord of the Rings fan would pay a fortune for the two documents.
Or kill for them.
Magnus had read the first two chapters of The Lord of the Rings only the night before. The first was indeed ‘A Long-Expected Party’, which celebrated Bilbo Baggins’s eleventy-first birthday, a jolly affair full of hobbits and food and fireworks at the end of which Bilbo put on his magic ring and disappeared. In the second, ‘The Shadow of the Past’, the wizard Gandalf returned to lecture Bilbo’s nephew Frodo on the strange and evil powers of the ring, and to give him the task of destroying it in the Crack of Doom.
It was clear that between the first and the second chapters lay Gaukur’s Saga.
‘Can I see?’ said Arni.
Magnus exhaled – he hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath. He handed the letter to him.
‘You showed this to Agnar?’
Ingileif nodded. ‘I let him have it for a few days. He wanted anything I could find to authenticate the saga. He was pleased with this. He was convinced it would help us get a better price.’
‘I’ll bet he was. So Hogni Isildarson was your grandfather?’
‘That’s right. His father, Isildur, founded a furniture store in Reykjavik at the end of the nineteenth century. Then, as now, many Icelanders travelled abroad to study, and in 1923 Hogni went to England, to Leeds University, where he studied Old English under J.R.R. Tolkien.
‘Tolkien made a big impression on my grandfather, he inspired him. I remember him telling me about him.’ Ingileif smiled. ‘Tolkien wasn’t really that much older than my grandfather, only in his early thirties, but apparently he had an old-fashioned air about him. As if he lived in a time before industrialization, before big cities and smoke and machine guns. They corresponded on and off for as long as Tolkien was alive. My grandfather even arranged for one of his nieces to work for Tolkien in Oxford as a nanny.’
‘It would have been a good thing all around if you had shown me this the last time I was here,’ Magnus said.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Ingileif. ‘And I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry isn’t really good enough.’ Magnus looked straight at her. ‘Do you have any idea why Agnar was killed?’
This time she held his gaze. ‘No. I told myself that all this was irrelevant to his death, which is why I had no need to tell you about it, and I know of no connection.’ She sighed. ‘It’s not my job to guess, but doesn’t it seem likely that these people you were talking about thought that they could get hold of the saga without paying Agnar?’
‘Unless you killed him,’ Magnus said.
‘And why would I do that?’ She returned his gaze defiantly.
‘To shut him up. You told me yourself that you wanted to withdraw the sale of the saga and he threatened to tell the world about it.’
‘Yes, but I wouldn’t kill him for that reason. I wouldn’t kill anyone for any reason,’ Ingileif said.
Magnus stared hard. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Magnus let the hundred and twenty pages of Gaukur’s Saga fall on to Baldur’s desk with a thump.
‘What’s this?’ Baldur asked, glaring at Magnus.
‘The reason Steve Jubb killed Agnar.’
‘What do you mean?’
Magnus reported what he and Arni had found at the summer house and his subsequent interview with Ingileif. Baldur listened closely, his long face drawn, lips pursed.
‘Did you get this woman Ingileif ’s prints?’ Baldur asked.
‘No,’ said Magnus.
‘Well, bring her in and take them. We need to see if those are the missing set at the scene. And we should get this authenticated.’ He tapped the typescript in front of him.
He raised his fingers into a steeple and touched his chin. ‘So, this must be the deal they were discussing. But that still doesn’t explain why Agnar was killed. We know that Steve Jubb didn’t get a copy of the saga. We didn’t find it in his hotel room.’
‘He could have hidden it,’ Magnus said. ‘Or mailed it the next morning. To Lawrence Feldman.’
‘Possibly. The Central Post Office is just around the corner from the hotel. We can check if anyone remembers him. And if he sent it registered mail, there will be a record of it, as well as the address it was sent to.’
‘Or perhaps the deal went bad? They had a fight about the price.’
‘Until they had the original saga in their possession, Feldman and Jubb would want Agnar alive.’ Baldur sighed. ‘But we are getting somewhere. I’ll have another go with Steve Jubb. We’ll get him back from Litla Hraun tomorrow morning.’
‘May I join you?’ Magnus asked.
‘No,’ said Baldur, simply.
‘What about Lawrence Feldman in California?’ Magnus said. ‘It’s even more important to speak to him now.’ Magnus could feel Arni stiffening in anticipation behind him.
‘I said, I would think about it, and I will think about it,’ said Baldur.
‘Right,’ said Magnus, and he made for the door of Baldur’s office.
‘And Magnus,’ Baldur said.
‘What?’
‘You should have reported this before you saw Ingileif. I’m in charge of the investigation here.’
Magnus bristled, but he knew that Baldur was right. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
Arni went to fetch Ingileif and bring her in to the station to be fingerprinted. Magnus called Nathan Moritz, a colleague of Agnar’s at the university who had been interviewed earlier by the police. Moritz was at home, and Magnus asked him to come into the station to look at something. The professor sounded doubtful at first, but when Magnus mentioned it was an English translation of a lost saga about Gaukur and his brother Isildur, Moritz said he would be right over.
Moritz was an American, a small man of about sixty with a neat pointed beard and messy grey hair. He spoke perfect Icelandic, which wasn’t surprising for a lecturer on the subject, and explained that he was on a two-year secondment to the University of Iceland from the University of Michigan. They slipped into English, when Magnus admitted that he was operating under a similar arrangement.
Magnus fetched him a coffee and they sat down in an interview room, the typescript from the summer house in front of Magnus. Moritz had brought his own exhibit, a big hardback book. He was so excited he could barely sit still, and he ignored his coffee.
‘Is that it?’ he said. ‘ Gaukur’s Saga?’
‘We think so.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘It seems to be an English translation that Agnar made.’
‘So that’s what he was working on!’ Moritz said. ‘He was beavering away at something for the last few weeks. He claimed that he was commenting on a French translation of the Laxdaela Saga, but that sounded strange. I’ve known Agnar for years, worked with him on a couple of projects, and he was never one to bother himself unduly over deadlines.’ Moritz shook his head. ‘ Gaukur’s Saga.’
‘I didn’t know it existed,’ said Magnus.
‘It doesn’t. Or at least we didn’t think it did. But it used to. Look.’
Moritz opened up the book in front of him. ‘This is a facsimile of the Book of Modruvellir, from the fourteenth century, one of the most important collections of the sagas. There are eleven of them in all.’