A squeal and an audible hug were heard from the outer office. “That must be Professor Brookert. Have you met him before?” Henry said to Mike.
“Nah, we've never met."
Celine opened the door and showed Professor Brookert in. She introduced him to Mike and explained how the professor had made her new job possible. They shook hands. She got the professor a cup of coffee too, without asking. Then she left, quiet as a mouse, and closed the door behind her.
“She is something,” Professor Brookert said, nodding towards the outer office. “I knew you would like her.”
“Yes she is. You have a good eye. After two hours, I feel I have completely lost control of my life, and my days of sneaking in naps at the office, I fear, are gone for good.”
The professor smiled, guessing Henry was right.
“I appreciate you both helping me out. The client, a Dr. Schaeffer, wants to hire me for something important. His man Hans was here two days ago, laid out some vague terms, heavy on money, light on details, and I agreed to see him today at noon.”
The professor and Mike nodded, listening intently.
“Here are the highlights,” Henry said, looking at his notes. “I had some luck yesterday, running down names from Mickey’s notebook. I ended up at the house of Dr. Schaeffer. It was an accident, as Hans hadn't told me the name of his employer. You should have seen Hans’ face when I showed up on the doorstep. Needless to say, he is a bit suspicious now. Dr. Schaeffer invited me to dinner and then started to tell me a story, which confirms my suspicions. Mickey may not have known it, but he had gotten into something big.”
The professor, always one to enjoy a good tale, asked, “What was the story about?”
“He talked about something called the Anti-kythrine something or other. I still don’t know what it's called. Marian, from the public library, mentioned it too, when I showed her Mickey’s entry, ‘Anti Catherine. She said she would try to scrounge up some details about it.”
“Do you mean the Antikythera Mechanism?”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Professor, that's it. You've heard of the thing?”
“I have, though I can't say I know much about it. I believe that it was discovered around the turn of the century. It's almost 2,000 years old.”
“Yes, well it seems that there were two of them, but I didn’t get far enough into the story at the doctor’s house to learn much more.”
“Two of them?” the professor asked suspiciously. “I'm not sure that's true. I would have read about a second discovery.”
“The doctor says the guy who found the first one found the second years later, in much better condition and didn’t tell anyone. Apparently, he was upset at not having been properly rewarded from his first find.”
“I suppose it is possible, but…”
“That's why I called you. I need you to find out everything you can on the first one, and any rumors you might be able to dig up about the second. And Mike, right now, I just want you to stand in the corner and look menacing. We can figure out our next move afterward.”
“Sounds good, Coach,” Mike said with a glint in his eye.
They heard the sounds of Celine welcoming Hans in the outer room. Lights, camera, action, Henry thought to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Get my car!” he bellowed. Andre Garneau was in rare form and a fine Italian suit, which was wishing it was still hanging in the closet instead of being sweated through. The chauffeur bolted from the room, feeling thrilled to be out of the line of fire. He knew that once they were on the road, his dreadful boss would sit quietly, as he didn’t like to talk in moving vehicles. The others weren’t quite so lucky.
The verbal assault had been going on for forty-five minutes, and Garneau had worked up quite the lather. The upstairs maid, usually immune from his criticism because of the short skirt and stockings she wore, was crying. The cook’s pallid face hid a deep-seeded rage – Garneau had criticized his eggs Florentine and used the word “pedestrian” in the rebuke. The butler had been severely reprimanded as well, but couldn’t have cared less. The downstairs maid, well known for being weepy, was crying too, though Garneau hadn’t gotten to her yet.
He was hot and exhausted. Yelling like a madman is much harder than one might think. He threw a plate, for effect, and then stormed up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom. There was silence from the staff. After a minute or so, they each went off to do their jobs and lick their wounds. Eventually, the chauffeur came back inside, grabbed a cup of coffee, and read the newspaper.
The letter from Father Patrick unleashed Garneau’s feeling of helplessness. It was Garneau who told the priest about the rumor of someone looking into the names of the collectors, but when he read it and saw that the auction might be canceled, he was overwrought. Over the last three weeks, he had parted with three of his most prized treasures, at a minor loss. Andre had feared that the other bidders might be in a better financial position, and he didn’t want to take any chances. This would be the crowning glory of his collection, and he was prepared to do anything to win. Now, he was faced with the real possibility that the item might never go up for sale at all. This was not the worst part.