“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 this 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 time I’d let him in on my secret. He didn’t like books all that much. A character flaw that I, unfortunately, never held against him.”

“The spying?” Stone prompted.

Trent screamed at Chambers, “You old fool, shut up!”

“Okay, that’s it, bedtime, junior.” Reuben slugged Trent flush in the jaw, knocking him out. He straightened up and said encouragingly to the book dealer, “Go right ahead.”

Chambers eyed the unconscious Trent. “Yes, I wonder that I am an old fool. Little by little, Albert told me how there was money to be made in selling what he called minor secrets. He explained that it wasn’t so much spying as just the normal course of business. He said in his position on the committee staff he’d met a man who had contacts in all the intelligence agencies and who was very interested in doing business with him. It turned out later that this man was very dangerous. But Albert said lots of people sold secrets, on both sides. It was almost expected.”

“And you believed that?” Stone said.

“A part of me didn’t. A part of me wanted to because book collecting is an expensive passion and the money could come in handy. I see clearly now that it was wrong, but back then it didn’t seem that bad. Albert said the problem was that all spies eventually got caught when they did a drop. He said he’d figured a way around that that depended on me.”

“Your skill as a conservator with rare books; you had expertise and access to the library,” Caleb said.

“Yes. And Albert and I were old friends, so there was nothing suspicious about him bringing me a book; that was my specialty, after all. Inside the books, certain letters were marked with a tiny dot. I’d take the coded letters he’d given me and put them in the library books using the chemical stain. With incunabula works I always loved the beautifully highlighted letters that the craftsmen created during the cradle of printing and beyond. To me they were really paintings in miniature, hundreds of years old, and with proper care they can look as vibrant today as the day they were first done. In my own way I’d been experimenting with materials like that for years, just as a hobby. There’s no market for that sort of thing anymore. It actually wasn’t too difficult to come up with a chemical to make the letters react under the right type of lenses, which I also constructed. Along with old books, chemistry and the power and manipulability of light have always fascinated me. I do so enjoy my work at the library.” He paused. “Well, at least I did enjoy it, as my career is now, of course, over.” He sighed heavily. “On the other end, Albert and his people arranged for people to come to the reading room with these special glasses. I understand they came in on a regular basis, not always simply to get the coded messages, so as not to raise suspicion.”

“Little old ladies and men coming in and reading rare books would never incite suspicion anyway,” Stone added. “They could take the secrets, put them in an old–fashioned letter to a ‘relative’ living out of the country, and not even the mighty NSA, with all its supercomputers and satellites, would ever know. It really was a perfect plan.”