Novel: The Sword, The Book, And The Bone (Chapter 22)

 I ran up the porch steps and in to see what was up, and nearly had a heart attack when I saw somebody standing in the living room. It was Professor Johns!

  “Jesus!” I cried out.

  “Sorry, no, just me,” he said.

  He was looking through my book shelves when he said, “Mr. Shepard, I want you to sit down.”

  He pointed to the couch and we both sat. On the coffee table was a canvas tote bag, and he indicated I open it up. Inside, wrapped in archival paper were two parcels. One was the sword and the other the book. He said, “I couldn’t stand it any longer. I overheard Medraut on his phone the other day (yes, I was standing by his doorway) and he was talking to somebody about how the University would love to give the British Museum a chance at the sword and the book, and how he was sure he could put a good word in about it with the Chancellor.”

  Johns looked at me and said, “I just don’t have time anymore to put up with nonsense. The time I’ve got left is for doing right. Eh? So, I went over to my favorite little table in the rare book room where I’ve been reading for twenty-five years, and I waited until Phyllis left the building.”

  “I went in to her office, found the key in her desk, and opened the big closet. I removed the sword and book, returned the key, sat my arse back down, and returned to my place in the Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit… That’s a great book by the way, did you read that one in my class?”

  I said, “No.”

  “Fine. So when the campus police came I just kept reading, and occasionally chuckling. It was as if I was invisible to them, when finally, one policeman approached me to ask if I’d seen anyone suspicious?

  I said, ‘Not since I shaved this morning.’ Then, I got up and left.”

  As Merle Johns explained himself, I began to panic. This was real now. Not fantasy. Every stupid little dream I’d had of lighting off smoke bombs, and picking locks, and sneaking out with stolen items, was burst as the feelings of true fear grabbed hold.

  What was I to do?

  For a second I thought, “To heck with this, I’ll call the cops on Johns, and look like a hero for getting the family ‘bequest’ back. And, when the British Museum buys the book and the sword, I’ll conveniently remind them I have the third person of the reliquary trinity up for sale: A nice gold jawbone of one Saint Longinus, for just a million dollars please.”

  But, thank God, it didn’t last. Something blew the foggy fears away and now a feeling of steadfastness came upon me. A voice in my mind, or at least an idea, said, “Here you go: This is your chance. Do what’s right. Do it. Do it now.”

  I said, “Thank you, Professor, I will take care of them.”

  “Well, don’t thank me yet. I’ve probably put you in great danger by bringing you in on my little crime, but, I had a sense you might not object.”

  He was of course right. But now I didn’t know what to do.

  He smiled at me and then he picked up the phone and dialed. After a pause he said, “Yes, my name is Tripp Shepard and I know who stole the items from the Wilson Library. His name is Merle Johns and he is sitting in my living room.” He gave the address and hung up.

  I was stunned. Again. “Wait, what are you doing?” I said.

  Old Merle said, “Listen to me. Hide the treasures. I am going to act like an imbecile when the police arrive. You simply tell them I came here babbling to you about Caliburn and the ancient text of Walter of Oxford. You get it?”

  “But, but, you’ll be ruined! Your career!”

  “It’s already been ruined son, as you well know. I was to retire after this year anyway. I’m done. Poured out. This will at least be exciting. And my Verna would approve.”

  A few minutes later the police arrived and I showed them in. I told them how Professor Johns had shown up, told me he’d stolen the book and sword, and came demanding I give him the jawbone of Longinus.

The police took him away, treating him gently, as if he were but a deranged old man. I’ll never forget the look on Johns’s face as he allowed them to arrest him gently. He seemed happy.

Continued Reading—The Sword, The Book, And The Bone—Chapter 23 (Thursday 1/5/2012)