a thing.”
“Let me show you,” Verlaine said. “Everything is here in the cards. This is the correspondence in
chronological order. Because of the absence of overt directions about the lyre’s location, we can
assume the content of Rockefeller’s half of the correspondence is null, a kind of white space upon
which Innocenta’s responses project meaning. As I pointed out to Gabriella this morning, there is a
recurring pattern in Innocenta’s letters. In four of them, she comments upon the nature of some kind of
design that Abigail Rockefeller has included in her correspondence. I see now,” Verlaine concluded,
gesturing to Mrs. Rockefeller’s cards on the table before him, “that Innocenta was commenting
specifically on these four pieces of stationery.”
“Read these remarks to us, Verlaine,” Gabriella said.
Verlaine picked up Innocenta’s letters and read aloud the sentences that praised Abigail
Rockefeller’s artistic taste, repeating the passages he had read to Gabriella that morning.
“At first I believed Innocenta was refering to drawings, perhaps even original artworks included in
the letters, which would have been the find of a century for a scholar of modern art like myself. But
realistically, the inclusion of such designs would have been highly unlike Mrs. Rockefeller. She was
a collector and lover of art, not an artist in her own right.”
Verlaine pulled four creamy cards from the progression of papers and distributed them to the
angelologists.
“These are the four cards Innocenta admired,” he said.
Evangeline examined the card Verlaine had given her. She saw it had been stamped by an inked
plate that left a remarkably fine rendering of two antique lyres held in the hands of twin cherubs. The
cards were pleasing to look at and very much in keeping with a woman of Abigail Rockefeller’s
taste, but Evangeline saw nothing that would unlock the mystery before them.
“Look closely at the twin cherubs,” Verlaine said. “Notice the composition of the lyres.”
The angelologists peered at the cards, exchanging them so that they could see each one in turn.
Finally, after some examination, Vladimir said, “There is an anomaly in the prints. The lyres are
different on each card.”
“Yes,” Bruno said. “The number of strings on the left lyre varies from the number on the right.”
Evangeline saw her grandmother examine her card and, as if she had begun to understand
Verlaine’s point, smile. “Evangeline,” Gabriella said. “How many strings do you count on each of the
lyres?”
Evangeline looked more closely at her card and saw that Vladimir and Bruno were correct—the
strings were different on each lyre—although it struck her as an oddity in the cards rather than
anything of serious consequence. “Two and eight,” Evangeline said, “but what does it mean?”
Verlaine took a pencil from his pocket and, in barely legible lead, wrote numbers below the lyres.
He passed the pencil around and asked the others to do the same.
“It seems to me that we are making much of a highly unrealistic rendition of a musical instrument,”
Vladimir said dismissively.
“The number of strings on each lyre must have been a method of coding information,” Gabriella
said.
Verlaine collected the cards from Evangeline, Saitou-san, Vladimir, and Bruno. “Here you have
them: twenty-eight, thirty-eight, thirty, and thirty-nine. In that order. If I’m right, these numbers come
together to give the location of the lyre.”
Evangeline stared at Verlaine, wondering if she’d missed something. To her the numbers appeared
to be utterly meaningless. “You believe that these numbers give an address?”
“Not directly,” Verlaine said, “but there might be something in the sequence that points to an
address.”
“Or coordinates on a map,” Saitou-san suggested.
“But where?” Vladimir said, his brow furrowing as he thought of the possibilities. “There are
hundreds of thousands of addresses in New York City.”
“This is where I’m stumped,” Verlaine said. “Obviously these numbers must have been extremely
important to Abigail Rockefeller, but there is no way to know how they’re to be used.”
“What sort of information could be conveyed in eight numbers?” Saitou-san asked, as if running the
possibilities through her mind.
“Or, possibly, four two-digit numbers,” Bruno said, clearly amused by the dubiousness of the
exercise.
“And all the numbers are between twenty and forty,” Vladimir offered.
“There must be more in the cards,” Saitou-san said. “These numbers are too random.”