Read Online A Borrowed Man by Gene Wolfe - Free Book Online Page A

Smithe.”
    â€œCorrect. Tell them to send it here or to your place in Spice Grove. It doesn’t matter.”
    Colette did as I had asked, watched by me. I was nervous and trying not to show it.
    There was a pause that seemed terribly long. Then a reply: No such title.
    She looked to me for further instructions. “They can’t find it.”
    I said, “Try another site, please,” and turned back to the filing cabinet and its many crowded drawers. I was not looking for anything in particular, just doing something to keep myself from staring at Colette and making her nervous. There were handwritten receipts for uncut gems, so I read a few of them.
    She said, “Same thing, Ern. Apparently they haven’t got the text.”
    â€œThat’s not exactly the same. The first one said it didn’t exist, which we know is wrong. Try the National Library in Niagara. See if they have a copy.”
    That took a good twenty minutes. “They say they don’t.”
    I thanked her.
    â€œWhy are you smiling?”
    â€œSo I won’t cry. I thought your father’s locking up your copy of my book meant there was something in it that was exclusive to that particular copy. Now we’ve found out that it may be in all the copies—assuming that there are others. It’s simply a rare book, in other words.”
    Slowly, Colette nodded.
    â€œSomeone strangled your brother as he returned to this house. Is that correct?”
    Colette nodded. “I told you about that. I … well, I’ll never get over it. I’ll never stop missing him.”
    â€œHave you any reason to suspect that your father was murdered, too?”
    â€œNo, none. If—there was a medical examination. I’m told one’s required whenever the dead person is under the age of one hundred. My father was only a little over half that.”
    â€œI see. What was the verdict?”
    â€œA blood vessel in his brain had burst. Isn’t that what they call a stroke? I don’t know the medical term.”
    â€œNot exactly. Let’s avoid the grim details. The point is, I think, that the people who visited us last night—the people who may be listening to this now—did not know that the secret of the book existed until after your father had died. Your father was afraid someone might find out, clearly; otherwise he would not have put it in his safe. Presumably no one did. Let’s see … your father died, and you attended his funeral and the burial. How long after that did your brother die? It doesn’t have to be exact. A quarter? A year?”
    â€œNot that long. The reading of the will was a week—no, six days—after the funeral. Cob was murdered about two weeks after that.”
    â€œPlenty of time.”
    â€œFor what?” Colette’s eyebrows were up.
    â€œFor him to find something in this house. Something he didn’t tell you about because he felt sure you wouldn’t believe him. That could be it.” I was as puzzled as she looked. “Or because you might want to do something he felt would be dangerous. Or even because he was afraid you’d tell someone who couldn’t be trusted.”
    â€œI see. Only…”
    â€œOnly you can’t imagine what it was he found. I think perhaps I can, a little. But we need to find out a great deal more. Plenty of time, too, for your brother to tell the person who betrayed him. It could’ve been idle gossip. Did he drink?”
    Colette shook her head. Hard.
    â€œIn that case it was probably someone he consulted. Someone he confided in to some extent.”
    â€œDon’t you think…?” She cupped a hand behind her ear.
    â€œYes, I do. Not always rightly, but I think. I can’t help it. Come with me.”
    I left the overfurnished room that had been her father’s office, went to the lift tube, and held the door open until she came.
    The lift tube let us out in the