The Hypnotist

THIRTY-FIVE

As Elgin Barindra unfolded the second to last letter in the box, its left corner flaked off and fell onto his lap. Lifting it carefully with tweezers, he placed it on a felt pad. Even if this letter didn’t turn out to be written by anyone of importance, he’d have to catalogue the corner, so before he read the missive he glanced at the lower left quadrant of the one sheet and struggled to make out the signature. At first it was unintelligible squiggles and lines, but he kept at it and slowly was able to make out the individual characters.

Dieter M. Loos

The name didn’t mean anything to him, but he slipped the corner between two sheets of plastic, tagged it, then did the same to the letter and proceeded to read it through the protective covering.

My Dear Davenport,

I am pleased to respond to your enquiry. Yes, your colleague Frederick L. Lennox is correct; our society is in possession of the artifact in question, a copper sheet of ancient Sanskrit quite impossible to translate. It was given to our founder by a group of Indian monks in the Himalayas in 1813. Like you, we believe it is a list of the legendary Memory Tools. I wish there was something more I could tell you about it that might help your colleague, but alas, we only know what it is purported to be.

Please do write and tell me when you and your lovely wife are returning to Vienna. It would be a pleasure to have a dinner in your honor during your stay.

Yours,

Dieter M. Loos

Elgin’s pulse raced as he read the letter for a second time. This was a clear reference to the list of tools that related to the robbery in Vienna. The fact that it also named an active member of the original Phoenix Club who had funded dozens of digs was important, too. There were threads running through all of this correspondence connecting people, places and discoveries, but it was taking a long time to unravel them. With so many boxes still to go through, Elgin felt a twinge of impatience.

Putting the letter aside, he stood, stretched and walked up the stairs. He needed to get some fresh air and report in with Glass or Richmond.

Upstairs in the wide hallway, illuminated by the art glass that cast a warm yellow glow on the polished wooden parquet floor, he slowed as he walked by Dr. Samuels’s office, listening for any stray information he might glean, but it was quiet. He was halfway down the passage when he heard footsteps and saw Dr. Bellmer turn the corner and head in his direction, with a man by her side. Under other circumstances the stranger wouldn’t warrant scrutiny-medium height, glasses, slacks, blazer and briefcase-except that Elgin recognized something in the man’s gait, a relaxed way he had of walking as if lights stopped for him and not the other way around.

“Elgin?”

The voice came from behind him, and he spun around. Malachai Samuels was standing in the doorway to his office.

“How’s today’s mail?”

“I found a very interesting letter that mentioned a list of Memory Tools engraved on copper sheets from ancient India.”

Elgin thought he heard one of the sets of footsteps in the hallway slow.

As Malachai ushered the librarian into his office, chastising him about talking in public, Elgin could still hear the conversation in the hall.

“So how have you been, Mr. Ryan?” Dr. Bellmer asked in a concerned voice. “How are the headaches?”