The knock prompted no response. Stone glanced around. There was no one on the street. “Give me some cover, Reuben,” he said.
Reuben turned around and placed his wide body between Stone and the street. A minute later the lock clicked open. Stone went in first, followed by Reuben. The main floor revealed nothing of interest. The furniture was old, but hardly antique, the pictures on the walls were prints, the refrigerator had some old takeout in it, the dishwasher was empty. The two bedrooms upstairs yielded little of interest. Some slacks, shirts and jackets hung in one closet, underwear and socks in the small bureau. The bathroom held the usual items, though Stone picked up a couple objects with a puzzled look. The medicine cabinet held the typical assortment of prescriptions and toiletries. They found nothing that might indicate where Chambers had gone.
When they got back downstairs, the others were standing in the foyer.
“Anything?” Caleb asked anxiously.
Stone answered, “You mentioned a workshop?”
“Lower level.”
They trooped down and searched through Chambers’ work space. It had all the things one would expect to see in a book conservator’s arsenal and nothing else.
“Dead end,” Reuben proclaimed.
The lower level was a walk-out, and Stone glanced out the window. “Opens into an alleyway with a row of buildings on the other side.”
“So?” Reuben said irritably. “I doubt a fleeing traitor would be lurking in an alley waiting for the feds to show up.”
Stone opened the door, stepped out and looked up and down the alley. “Wait here!” He ran down the alley, turned the corner and disappeared from view. When he returned a few minutes later, his eyes were gleaming.
Reuben was watching his friend closely. “You remembered why this place looks familiar. You’ve been here before?”
“We’ve all been here before, Reuben.”
CHAPTER 67
STONE LED THEM AROUND THE corner and down the street along the front of the row houses that backed to the alley opposite Chambers’ home. Stone stopped in the middle of the block and motioned the others to stay put as he stared upward at something on the building they were in front of.
“Good Lord,” Caleb said, looking around and realizing where he was. “I didn’t recognize it in the daytime.”
“Caleb, ring the bell,” Stone instructed.
Caleb did so and a deep voice said, “Yes, who is it?”
Stone motioned to Caleb. “Oh, it’s me, Mr. Pearl, Caleb Shaw. I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about the Psalm Book.”
“I am not open. My hours are clearly posted on the sign.”
“It’s very urgent,” Caleb said. “Please? It won’t take long.”
A long moment passed and then they heard a click. Caleb pulled the door open and they all went inside. When Vincent Pearl appeared a moment later, he was not dressed in long robes, but in black pants, white shirt and a green work apron. His long hair was disheveled and his beard untidy. He appeared startled to see the others with Caleb and said angrily, “I’m very busy right now, Shaw. I cannot drop everything simply because you show up unannounced.”
Stone stepped forward. “Where’s Albert Trent? In the back room?”
Pearl gaped at him. “Excuse me? Who?”
Stone pushed past him, kicked open the door to the back room and went in. He came out a minute later. “Upstairs, then?”
“What the hell are you doing?” Pearl screamed. “I’ll call the police.”
Stone darted past him for the spiral stairs and motioned for Reuben to follow him upstairs. “Watch out, Foxworth might be with him.” The pair disappeared upstairs, and a minute later the others heard screams and a struggle. Then the noise abruptly stopped, and Stone and Reuben marched downstairs holding firmly to Albert Trent.
They threw the man in a chair, and Reuben stood next to him. The intelligence committee staffer looked thoroughly beaten, but Reuben still growled, “Just give me an excuse to snap your scrawny neck.”
Stone turned to face Pearl, who, unlike Trent, had lost none of his composure.
“I have no idea what you think you’re doing,” Pearl said as he lifted the apron over his shoulders. “This man is a friend of mine, and he’s here at my invitation.”
“Where’s Chambers?” Caleb blurted out. “Is he here at your invitation too?”
“Who?” Pearl said.
Caleb looked exasperated. “Monty Chambers.”
“He’s right here, Caleb,” Stone said. He reached over and tugged hard on Pearl’s beard. It started to come off. With his other hand Stone moved to grab a chunk of the bushy hair, but Pearl stopped him.
“Please allow me.” He pulled first the beard and then the wig off, revealing a smooth, bald head.
Stone said, “To really hide your identity, don’t leave a hairbrush and shampoo in the bathroom. Bald men rarely need those items.”
Pearl sat down heavily in a chair and ran his hand along the fake hair. “I’d wash this and my beard in the sink and then brush them out. It was a pain, but there you are. Much of life is a pain.”
Caleb was still staring at Vincent Pearl, who was now Monty Chambers.
“I can’t believe I never saw that you two were one and the same man.”
“The disguise was very effective, Caleb,” Stone said. “Hair and a beard, different type of glasses, the added weight, unusual clothes. It all adds up to a very unique look. And by your own admission you’d seen Pearl privately here at the shop only twice before. And only at night, and the lighting is not that good.”
Caleb nodded. “And you spoke very little at the library. And when you did, your voice was high and squeaky. So which came first,” he demanded, “Vincent Pearl or Monty Chambers?”
Pearl smiled weakly. “Monty Chambers is my real name. Vincent Pearl was simply my alter ego.”
“Why have one at all?” Stone asked.
At first Chambers appeared reluctant to answer. But finally, he shrugged and said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I used to be an actor, in my youth. I loved dressing up, playing the role. But my talent outstripped my opportunities, I guess you could say. My other passion was books. As a young man I apprenticed with an excellent conservator and learned the trade. I was hired by the library and had the beginnings of a good career. But I also wanted to collect books. And the salary at the library didn’t allow for that. So I became a rare book dealer. I certainly had the knowledge and experience. But who would engage a humble conservator at the library for that? Not the rich, which was the clientele I was aiming for. So I invented someone they would pursue with vigor: Vincent Pearl, theatrical, mysterious, infallible.”
“And whose shop was only open at night to accommodate his day job,” Stone added.
“I bought thi
s shop because it was across the alley from my home. I could put on my disguise and walk out the door and into my shop a new man. It worked very well. Over the years my reputation as a dealer flourished.”
“How do you go from book dealer to spy?” Caleb asked, his voice trembling. “How do you go from book conservator to someone who kills people?”
Trent spoke up. “Don’t say anything! They have nothing on us.”
“We have the codes,” Milton said.
“No, you don’t,” Trent sneered. “If you’d had them, you’d have gone to the police.”
“E, w, h, f, w, s, p, j, e, m, r, t, i, z. Shall I go on?” Milton asked politely.
They all looked at him, dumbfounded.
Caleb said, “Milton, why didn’t you tell us before?”
“I didn’t think it mattered, because we didn’t have the proof in the book. But I read the highlighted letters before they vanished. And once I see something, I never forget it,” he said helpfully to the stunned Trent. “Anyway, it just occurred to me that since I remembered all the letters, the authorities could try and decrypt it once I told them.”
Chambers looked at Trent and shrugged. “Albert’s father and I were friends, meaning friends with me as Monty Chambers. When he passed away, I became a father figure to Albert, I guess, or at least a mentor. This was years ago. Albert came back to Washington after he finished school, and joined the CIA. He and I had talks over the years about the spy world. Then he moved to the Hill. And we had more discussions. By this