Alexander exhaled slowly, folding his arms.
“Then someone among us is no scholar,” he said.
Marcus looked back at the empty shelf.
“No,” he said. “They are something else entirely.”
Catherine straightened, her composure rallying.
“What shall we do?” she asked.
Marcus turned back to the group, his mind already calculating the implications.
“We must speak to no one else,” he said. “Not yet. If the culprit suspects discovery, they may conceal the evidence or attempt flight. We shall keep our suspicions close. Quiet observation may reveal more than confrontation.”
Alexander nodded.
“We will help,” he said.
Marcus nodded, noting the way Alexander stood a little too close to Rosalind and his fingers flexed idly toward her hand, as if longing to grasp it. It was a warm sentiment he felt between the two of them. But right then, duty was more pressing than any potential budding relationship between the pair to Marcus.
Rosalind stepped forward.
“Might it be one of the guests who came only for the day?” she asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“Unlikely. Those who came only for the day were admitted solely to the presentations. They were not permitted among the exhibits or into the catalogue rooms. Only the resident scholars and their companions had such access.”
Catherine’s lips tightened.
“Then the pool of suspects is small,” she said, her disappointment evident as she spoke.
Too small, he thought coldly. These were people he had trusted. He had welcomed them into his home and offered the hospitality of his life’s work. To learn that one of them had so readily betrayed his trust and eagerness to share scholastic pursuits among peers filled him with an anger that was only rivalled by the sadness he felt.
How could such esteemed colleagues do something so terrible?
“I will review the attendance logs and catalogue access,” he said. “Every participant signed the examination sheets. We shall cross-reference observations.”
Alexander glanced toward the door.
“Shall we carry on as though nothing were amiss?” he asked.
Marcus sighed and nodded.
“We must,” he said. “At least until we know more. I know it will not be easy—for it is hard to conceal such disquiet—but if we are to unmask the culprit, we must give no sign that anything has been observed.”
Catherine looked up at him, her eyes steady.
“We will succeed in keeping this quiet,” she said with a confidence that gave Marcus a small bit of comfort. “And we will find the missing piece.”
Marcus gave a short nod, though he felt no such certainty. All he knew was that something sacred had been violated. And he would not rest until the transgression had been answered.
He remained by the display case, his posture unyielding, though his arms now hung loose at his sides. The tension had not left him. It merely pressed inward, heavy and hollow. He turned toward Catherine, who sat with one hand still resting on the table, her expression grave but steady.
Rosalind and Alexander exchanged worried glances, neither speaking, but both waiting.
A knock struck the library door, abrupt and sharp. Marcus lifted his head, as did everyone else in the room. No one spoke as they exchanged pale-faced glances. Whoever was on the other side of the door was not supposed to know what was transpiring. Yet without the time to compose themselves, Marcus knew it would be as plain as snow in wintertime in their expressions.
