Part 5 (1/2)

”Oh yes, very favorably.” She frowned. ”Which reminds me. He received a check from you for the advance royalties. I'm sure he didn't cash it because there was no deposit at the bank that large. I can't find the check anywhere. He must have had it with him when--”

She had opened the screen door. Browne went in and followed her into the study. He looked around at the walls of books, almost feeling the presence of the man whose retreat this had been.

”That's what I've come here to see you about,” Browne said. ”You see, he called on me at my office the morning of the day he vanished.”

”He did?”

”Yes. I'm going to be quite frank with you. He returned the check to me.”

”Why? He said nothing to me about it.”

”I rather imagine he didn't have time. I've waited, knowing you wouldn't care to discuss business so soon after--” He waited for her reaction.

When she said nothing he continued. ”He returned the check and said he didn't want the book published after all. I couldn't quite understand his reasons, but they are no longer valid as I see it.”

”What were his reasons? This surprises me very much. Just the day before that he mentioned his book and expressed pleasure that it was being published.”

”The reasons he gave were that the book contained some things that were--to use his own words--a trifle crackpottish. He thought they might reflect on him in some way.”

”Oh my goodness. He was always doing something like that, Mr. Browne. He leaned over backwards. Scientific integrity was a fetish with him.”

”I haven't read the book,” Mr. Browne said. ”The reader reported it was far better than Dr. Grant's first one. That was good enough for me. The reader is no longer with us.” He frowned in irritation at the memory.

”Left us without giving notice. But he was a good man. Excellent judgment. I'd like to go ahead with the book unless you object.”

”I don't know,” Mrs. Grant hesitated. ”If he didn't want it published--”

”But he's gone now,” Browne reminded her.

”I know, but--” She wept softly into a crumpled kerchief.

The publisher remained silent. After a moment she pulled herself together. ”He was always so absent-minded. I was sure he had mislaid the check. Used it to scribble some problem on. He did that once several years ago.”

Browne reached into his breast-pocket and brought out a long envelope and extended it toward her.

”I had another check made out for advance royalties,” he said, ”if you decide to let me go ahead with the book.”

”I don't think I should, Mr. Browne.” She withdrew the check from the envelope and looked at it, her eyebrows lifting at the size of the figure.

”It's substantially more than the original check,” Browne said. ”I thought perhaps you might be in need of money, and I feel confident the book will sell exceptionally well.”

”It is a lot of money,” Mrs. Grant said. ”But I'm so confused. I wish I knew what to do.”

Browne leaned forward. ”Your husband was a great man. I feel it as an obligation on my part to make public his last work.”

Mrs. Grant nodded slowly. ”You may be right. I hadn't thought of it that way.”

”And you can undoubtedly use the money,” Browne added. ”There'll be more. How much more depends on how the book sells. It may be a steady income for a few years.”

”All right,” Mrs. Grant said, making up her mind. ”I'll let you publish it.”