The Evans’ Estate - Part 2
“There it is,” I thought as I pulled up the drive to the Evans’ house. A man about my brother’s age met me at the door.
“Hello. You must be Mr. Pendergast’s elder brother. I’m awfully sorry about your brother. It really is a shame. Oh, forgive me! Let me introduce myself. I’m Mr. Marshal. I work at the Brookline Public Library. I believe I was the only soul your brother spoke to in town. He used to come into the library every night and then one night he stopped coming and naturally I got worried so I came out here to check on him and well…it really was a shame,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Marshal. Thank you. I heard there was some paperwork I had to sign?”
“Yes. Yes. Come inside. I’ll brew some tea for us. Is Early Grey okay with you?”
“That’s fine,” I said as I stepped through the door into the entrance hall and felt that familiar unsettling feeling. I also noticed that my brother had quite the collection of books lying around and there were papers strewn over every writing surface in sight. One of the books caught my eye. It was a red leather bound book with a picture of a judge’s scale. I opened it and was astonished to find that all of the pages were blank except on one, in my brother’s handwriting, there were two words, “the globe.” I didn’t have the faintest idea what this could have meant but was kept from further contemplation because Mr. Marshal arrived in the room carrying a tray of tea.
“Tea is ready, Mr. Pendergast. If you’ll come with me to the dining area” he said.
“Excellent,” I said and followed him into the dining room. He set the tray down on the table and poured me a cup of tea.
“Thank you. Do you happen to know anything about this?” I said pointing to the red book.
“That? Oh yes. That’s the book your brother was always scribbling in when he came to the library.”
“No. It can’t be this book. This book only has two words in it.” I showed him the book.
“That’s strange. That’s the book. I know it by the jacket. I would have figured every square inch would have been covered by the way he scribbled.”
“Maybe he had more than one book? Do you know what he was scribbling about? Or what exactly he was looking for those nights at the library?”
“I don’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he was asking for books on the occult.”
“The occult?” I interrupted.
“Yes. The occult. I don’t know what for. Maybe it had to do with those old rumours about this place.”