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The Mankiller of Poojegai and other stories

Stories ranging from Stone Age Germany to 19th century Italy to currrent day Africa.

Crippen & Landru, August 2007

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Walter Satterthwait - "One of a Kind" a short story

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Beyond the window, once again, wisps of fog slowly swirled around the gas lamps. A lonely hansom cab clattered along the cobblestones.

Hands in his pockets, the Inspector turned and faced the brightly lighted library. "Since I spoke with you yesterday, Sir Colin," he said, "several interesting facts about Lord Rumsey's death have emerged."

Sitting behind his huge desk, his elegant shoulders resting comfortably against the club chair, Sir Colin raised an eyebrow. "You surprise me," he said. "Lord Rumsey's life was so utterly uninteresting that I had assumed his death would be very much the same."

"Lady Rumsey," said the Inspector, "told me that one of her husband's books is missing. A first edition of Sir Francis Bacon's Incunabula, printed by Rickman in 1626. It was, she said, by far the most valuable piece of his collection."

"It is extremely valuable, yes." He smiled complacently. "During your search of yesterday, Inspector, you no doubt noticed that I possess a copy of the same book."

"So I did. And I found this rather surprising."

"Indeed?" He said this as though surprised to learn that the Inspector were capable of an emotion so complicated as surprise. "And why might that be?"

"According to Lady Rumsey, her husband's copy was unique. One of a kind."

"Lady Rumsey is mistaken, obviously. The woman knows even less about books than her husband did."

"But consider," said the Inspector. "If the book were in fact one of a kind, then your possession of it might suggest that you purloined it from Lord Rumsey. And that its theft was perhaps the motive for his death."

Sir Colin smiled again. "But the book is clearly not unique. For you have seen my copy. And nothing about it would indicate that it was ever in Lord Rumsey's possession."

The Inspector nodded. "Like any serious collector, Lord Rumsey would hardly deface a valuable book by marking it for the purpose of identification." He shrugged. "But, as it happens, the point is irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?"

"Yes. I've made further inquiries, and I've determined that the book is not one of a kind."

Sir Colin frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"It happens that an American collector, a Mr. Huntingdon, has in his possession no fewer than two copies of the book." He smiled.
"And so, you see --"

Sir Colin had gone pale. "Two...copies?

"Yes, and so --"

"My copy," mumbled Sir Colin, "is not unique?"

"Of course not. As you yourself said --"

Sir Colin leaped from his chair. "That wretch! That swine Rumsey -- he must've known! It was all for nothing!"

The Inspector nodded calmly. "You admit to killing him, then.

"He deserved it! The swine! Taunting me with the book! Laughing at me!" He looked wildly around the room, looked back at the Inspector. His shoulders sank. His glance moved toward the bookcase that held the Bacon. "My copy is not unique," he said, and the melancholy in his voice was almost palpable.

The Inspector discreetly coughed, and the two constables waiting outside the library opened the door and stepped smartly in. Sir Colin barely noticed as they led him from the room. Again he muttered, "Not unique." The Inspector watched them leave.

It had worked.

He was eccentric, that consulting detective fellow, but he was also cunning. Who else would have suggested deceiving a book collector with such a tale? A tale that utilized not merely one invented copy, but two.

"My dear Inspector," he had said, "I know my book collectors. The 'existence' of two additional copies of a book which he believes to be unique will undoubtedly unhinge Sir Colin."

And Holmes had been correct. As he so often seemed to be. In a way he was, himself, one of a kind.

Smiling, shaking his head, Lestrade walked from the room.

Copyright; 1996 by Walter Satterthwait.